It seemed that the human was indeed a stranger to Finnian. At this late hour, he was at his workplace.
Amelia hesitated at the very entrance to his office, in front of the drawn-back door curtain... through which a strip of light was frighteningly visible.
"Must flee before he notices us."
And... then what? Forget about the symbols? Like Milo? Like bog, no.
Forward — and let come what may.
The Secretary exhaled and, given the heightened danger, instantly remembering the signs of Omillian politeness, clapped her hands to announce her presence.
...No turning back now.
She resolutely pushed the curtain aside. Before she could change her mind.
— I'm... not disturbing too much, am I? — she squeezed out from her suddenly stiff mouth something not very clever and not very impressive.
...Fine. At least it's something.
Ami had been in the Witchium once or twice, delivering documents. But Finnian, who dealt with crowds of people, naturally didn't remember her.
— Not too much. — The witch raised his murderously cold gaze, his piercingly bright grey-blue eyes, and looked her over appraisingly from beneath a strand of white hair that had fallen across his face, lowering the tablet he had been intently studying. — I was wondering who was hovering and huffing at the entrance.
— I... do...
An icy pause hung in the air, which the Head Witch made no attempt to smooth over, continuing to stare at the visitor point-blank.
Fine. Ami's turn, then. Fair enough. After all, she was the one who came here on her own business.
The frozen servicewoman tried with all her might to concentrate, taking a deep breath and gasping for air with her parched mouth.
"Pull yourself together. Yes, you're scared of all people indiscriminately, communication isn't your strong suit, but we should at least state why we've come. Briefly and clearly."
Briefly and clearly.
— I... I'm the Secretary of the Temple Truthseekers Department... — she began, unnaturally loudly, finally managing to squeeze out something articulate.
Finnian's unblinking gaze only added to her frozen state.
— ...I need... to use your Archives, — she finished, her voice almost a breaking whisper.
...Well, however it looked, she'd at least tried.
— You don't look much like Lucille, — he smirked from under his brow.
— Sort of... no, — Amelia snorted nervously, not expecting a joke. — Fortunately, I suppose... You might remember me more as a courier.
"Oh, no! The tongue's stuck to the roof of the mouth!"
"It'll do. Let them talk. She's not dead yet."
"But she almost."
...Run. Run! Terror-fear-nightmare-awkwardness...
"Amelia. The choice is already made. Now embarrass yourself without hesitation."
Huh? H... ugh.
The Archivist stared at the Head Witch with horrified and impolite curiosity, unable to look away or continue the conversation.
In this creature, in his bearing, profile, and posture, there was a real sense of danger. An almost physically chilling sensation.
Progressive freezing in the extremities, as if this cold was about to reach her heart.
"He should be guarding the Royal Palace. Chained up at the entrance. So he wouldn't get out onto the street."
— Ah, yes. Right. The courier. I remember now. — after what felt like a terrifying eon, the Head Witch tapped the table with an elegant gesture of his thin white fingers, not taking his attentively studying gaze from her with those terribly perceptive eyes.
— Yes... The courier. With documents. From Kantine... — Ami exhaled briefly and quickly, glad that the witch himself had started the conversation.
Right now, she could only stand there stupidly silent... before turning and fleeing this place.
— The Secretary of the Kantine Order Department. On exchange. Yes, I recall. — the witch drawled. — And... what, may I ask, do you need in our Archives?
He narrowed his eyes with distrustful, cold curiosity.
"Oof, no..."
— Information... — she stammered, trying to figure out how best to phrase her needs. — Information... about... symbols. From different... cities. And... not only... cities.
Oof...
"Great start."
— Is that so? — Finnian's cold gaze reflected slightly more interest.
Ami tried not to look into his hypnotically bright, glowing eyes. But it was as impossible as it was impolite.
— Yes... Also... about different races... Yes. And maps... Probably... No. Maps definitely... Yes.
The Kantinian swallowed convulsively, struggling to look away.
— Right. Getting interesting now. And... why?
He stopped drumming his fingers on the table and stared at her with a clearly discernible silent demand for a clearer explanation.
"Pull yourself together, Ami."
Yes... we've come to the heart of the matter. Quite quickly.
...How to... lie a bit more elegantly?
Elegance was clearly not Ami's forte.
She wasn't very good at lying either... especially to others. She'd have to do it in two stages. First convince herself, then Finnian.
Which was difficult, as her voice had suddenly become hoarse, as if from a cold, but it was only from stress.
— I believe... that it might help shed light on... the recent strange affairs. They really are very strange, after all. — the Kantinian said, barely lying, taking the risk to try and look him in the eye as confidently as possible while simultaneously regaining control of her ability to think and speak coherently.
A nearly impossible task, even for an ambitious Secretary.
— Indeed... — the chthonic witch confirmed with a weary sigh, to Ami's relief, already thoughtfully averting his gaze from his terribly beautiful eyes.
The servicewoman also took a loud breath.
She hadn't even noticed she'd been holding it the whole time until the air in her lungs started running out.
— ...stranger than any I've encountered before... in all my years of service here, — he continued. — And this is undoubtedly an excellent reason to take a very timely interest in the culture of the rest of the Mainland...
Amelia coughed nervously.
Was that... about her? He... didn't believe her?
— ...which, incidentally, your department has been doing lately. Unsuccessfully, it must be said. — he finished the sentence on a sceptical note.
...Ha!..
— That's... right. — the Secretary snorted, with vengeful satisfaction noting the mild criticism of Milo's work. — Milo hindered as much as he could... But I still... found something.
— Is that so? — Finnian raised an eyebrow incredulously.
"Yes! Attack!"
But the Head Witch fell thoughtfully silent again and, it seemed to Ami, for another whole eon. Hovering over his desk, critically eyeing the tablet he had been studying before.
Will he kick her out? Or... not?
"Couldn't you have lied... properly?"
Can't. Technically impossible in this state. This inhuman creature plunges you into complete stupor with the combination of his beauty and radiating power. And the longer you're near him, the stronger the effect.
...Soon she'd lose the power of speech altogether. And all would be lost.
Having thoroughly considered something, the witch slowly shifted his gaze to some drawer.
The lamplight sharply outlined the thin and elegant features of his pale face, framed by long, smooth, very light hair.
Beautiful, but terrifying.
Ami, frozen, awaiting her "sentence," still hadn't moved. It was already hard to tell if she was admiring him again at the moment, freezing in terror, or doing both at once.
— And... what have you found? — finally, after another eon, the Head of the Witchium inquired.
...Phew!
"This is a chance!"
— I'll... show you... — Amelia thawed instantly for her planned advance. — Oh... I mean... I could show you! If the luminaries were still on the horizon! Ugh, damn it... Right! But I have a witchgraph... of the actual exhibit...
"Quiet-quiet-quiet... Briefly and clearly. Or he'll get furious any moment."
...I can feel it myself... Any moment my heart will leap out of my ears.
I can barely hear my own words, let alone think.
"Pull yourself together."
The witch frowned.
— Did... Milo send you? — he guessed, measuring her with a searching stare.
Must save the situation.
— No! Not at all. — the Truth Station Secretary gasped convulsively. — He would have... He'll tear me to shreds if he finds out I'm here. This is... my own deadly initiative.
The witch gave a quiet, half-approving snort, and the encouraged Amelia, meanwhile, with trembling hands, quickly pulled out the witchgraph of the fiery symbols that Irji had made.
As she fumbled for the transparent document with clumsy fingers, she noticed it was covered with a light frost, making it stick to her skin...
...So, her feelings hadn't deceived her.
Finnian didn't trust her and could freeze her at any moment. Reasonable. Who knows who's wandering around here and why, in these troubled times.
Trying not to betray the trembling of her numb hands, she placed the image on the table before the Head Witch.
Let him turn his terrifying gaze to something else and start burning a hole in the previously frozen tablet.
— Oh... brilliant. — he raised a sceptical eyebrow, to the Kantinian's relief, finally lowering his cold, piercing stare to the document with the symbols.
The manoeuvre had worked... Exhale!
Strange sensations... frost on the skin outside and the heat of awkwardness inside. Flee. Hide... not an option.
— Yes. Literally. And Milo... isn't interested in continuing the investigation in this direction at all... That's why I'm here.
The Secretary decided to counter the internal cold with burning resentment and bring herself to her senses with a surge of adrenaline.
— ...he thinks... that if you allocate people properly... setting up patrols and checks where needed, that will solve the case... Without any of "this mystical nonsense". — she exhaled the rest of the phrase angrily.
The cold began to recede. Either Finnian was convinced of her sincerity, or her anger burned so hot that any witchery was powerless.
But the heat inside intensified, and her face began to flush with an unhealthy semblance of a blush, causing new discomfort. All this, combined with her stuttering and sluggishness, spoke volumes about what she was truly feeling.
Despite this, she even managed to frown resolutely. Now that was an achievement.
...How else could it be. This is what she's here for. Not to be silent. She can do that at the Station too. To speak. Even if only foolish babble comes out of her mouth. There's no retreat.
Plus — she's still not out on the street. And he's still listening.
— That sounds like Milo. — the witch smiled slyly with just his lips, though his gaze remained immobilisingly icy. — Perhaps his method will indeed solve the problems... But we can't disregard the evidence either.
He, to Ami's horror, casually waved the sole piece of evidence in the air.
— I... agree. — the blushing Secretary still tried her utmost to appear unruffled.
...So what. A seasoned Kantinian doesn't need to impress with a proud posture and an elegant costume to throw dust in someone's eyes; she'd seen a lot in her life. Her swamp-ghoul boss in the Kantine police was a far more unsettling person than this refined, skinny cooler of drinks and blood in one's veins.
And as for deeds that bring notoriety, she was quite capable herself... always.
Having already exhaled grimly, Ami shifted her gaze to Finnian's cup, to distract herself a little.
As she now understood, cups among the Omillians were as much status symbols as a personally cultivated coffee variety or a secret recipe for its preparation.
The Head Witch's cup looked quite ordinary. Unfinished clay with finger grooves, a blue glazed rim. She'd seen more interesting ones among the Truth officers at the Station... It seemed Finnian was a practical person, not prone to petty effects. Rightly so. Why would he need petty effects when he clearly had an overabundance of major ones.
Amelia unconsciously let out another slow breath.
— Do... those symbols mean anything to you? — she asked with forced, hesitant interest.
— No. — he replied nonchalantly, shifting his gaze back to the tablet. — Why do the markings... seem to glow?
The stupor was still winning. It had retreated unwillingly for a moment, but not very far. About the same distance as Finnian himself was.
She needed... something else to distract herself. But what?
An image involuntarily popped into her mind: the Head Witch under a mushroom in the square near a café, relaxed, sipping some drink from his blue-rimmed cup.
— The witchgraph was taken in a dark room, — Ami explained. — I held the scroll against the window. And this is what became visible when held up to the light.
— I see you're finding things rather dull here... — Finnian remarked indifferently. — If you're still digging up what your boss didn't deem important.
Suddenly, the drink in her imagined witch's cup ceased to be liquid, and the cup itself became covered with frost.
Ami giggled foolishly, snapping out of her vision.
— You can't really let loose while Milo's on duty. Only as far as the nearest coffee shop.
— Why... did you get so fixated on the symbols? — the Head Witch inquired with a barely perceptible sly smirk.
— I don't know myself... — the Secretary answered honestly. — It... somehow seems important to me. Milo considers me and my efforts... amusing at best, if not completely useless. That's why I'm here. But... if you also think this is a waste of time — then I'll accept it and stop wasting it.
...Indeed. Time to give up this dubious, hand-and-heart-chilling pleasure.
— I didn't say that, — Finnian slowly shook his head in response. — What... specifically are you trying to achieve?
— If... I'm aiming for the maximum? — the Kantinian ambitiously pursed her lips. — My own investigation. Decipher the symbols, solve the case.
— Ambitious... — he smirked. — But it's not all just about the symbols, you know.
— Yes, I remember... Also people disappearing, documents vanishing, resources, tools, minor hooliganism, major vandalism, unexplained noises and incidents, smuggling, hoarding, memory loss... — the Temple worker listed thoughtfully, ticking off on her fingers. — I was interested in this back in Kantine too. But they wouldn't let me spread my wings there either. What a plague...
— They probably don't know themselves what to do with it or how to approach it. It all looks like some big mysterious game involving... I don't know... not ordinary people, perhaps. At the very least, extraordinarily powerful witches. With power this Continent hasn't seen.
— What if it's... not people?
— Then I can't even imagine why they'd do this. For an obvious reason. Their motivations are very different from ours. Disappearances, fine. But how do you link smuggling to the case? Why would non-humans need human methods of transport? No. Doesn't fit. And these hidden warehouses with traps... I, as a witch who's been to the crime scene inspections, still put my money on witchery... albeit exceptionally strong.
— How do you tell human from non-human?
— Well... If I can roughly understand how it was done. Or if I could theoretically replicate it — then it's well within human capabilities. I have no doubt there are witches on the Mainland with higher qualifications than mine. But, if they're involved... then the matter is deadly serious.
— And what if all this... is not man-made? An anomaly? An epidemic? Affecting... somehow selectively?
Amelia was so engrossed in theorising that she forgot to blush and be shy.
— What about the notes? And the camouflaged pit? Maybe none of it is even connected, of course... But so many unusual things appearing at roughly the same time suggests something is happening, the scale of which is still hard to assess. And then, as usual, it'll be too late. I can say they are very strong, and everything is done very skilfully. Very... frighteningly.
— Very! — Ami agreed. — And it crept up... terrifyingly close, didn't it? I heard... one of your apprentices got hurt?
Finnian winced bitterly, gloomily lowering his eyes.
— Yes.
— And... how much did he forget?
— A certain number of major cycles of his life... and a few techniques.
— The last cycles?
— Strangely enough, no, — the witch answered with the thoughtful interest of a researcher. — From different periods... As if his subconscious deemed some things unimportant now and decided to discard them as unnecessary, since it was so convenient.
— And the important stuff stayed in place?
— Well, he's breathing. He can eat and drink.
— And what... happens otherwise?
— It does... But we're unlikely to find out directly.
"...Not creepy at all. Thanks for the ominous tone. Fine, we're here for details ourselves."
— I... looked at the reports and examinations. Not only here, but back in Kantine too. Nothing to grab onto, no commonality between victims or circumstances. All my theories crumbled to dust, one after another. I hate not understanding. Milo puts his faith in the Prime agent. Maybe he really will have some bright ideas.
Finnian nodded confidently.
— He has so far. He's pleasant to work with.
The Head Witch and the visitor were silent for a moment, lost in thought.
— Should I get involved in the case? I don't think it would make things worse? What about my initial request for access to your Archives?
— Why not... it's a good start. — Finnian indicated the tablet with a glance. — The signs are unclear, but... an interesting... structure to this thing, like a short instruction or list, perhaps... Look. There's something in it... I don't even know how to put it... Something familiar, like you're just about to understand what it's about. But... no.
He shook his head in annoyance.
— Yes. No. Fading hopelessness.
— Sounds like it.
— I get these strange... shivers from all these symbols. Like from the markings drawn in my mother's old notebooks.
Amelia frowned, shivering nervously.
— What notebooks? — the Head Witch looked at her with curiosity.
His gaze no longer burned or froze. Either he had no such intention at the moment, or his charge of energy had temporarily run out.
— My mother's research travel notes. Here. — Amelia pulled scraps of fabric from her bag and placed them on his table.
If it's an exchange of information, then let it be an exchange.
— Hmmmm...
Not at all perturbed by this clutter on his workspace, Finnian, with interest and a carefree air, picked up the top piece of written fabric from the pile.
His mask of indifference vanished for a moment, and he grabbed another with even greater enthusiasm. His crystal-blue eyes sparkled even more, now with genuine interest. And undisguised surprise showed on his face.
— Wow! — he marvelled, straightening and examining the other fragments. — The Kantinians are evolving rapidly! Trading farming tools for books and maps...
His thin fingers quickly, deftly, and knowledgeably began arranging the disparate fragments of the torn map in their places, pulling them from the pile. Here was someone who certainly knew what to do.
— What? No! They're all as dumb as walls, as far as I remember them from last time.
— Harsh. I'll trust the insider's view...
— How do you... know what it's supposed to look like? — the astonished Amelia inquired, watching as what she had struggled with for cycles came together in an instant.
— Well... I didn't spend my time at University for nothing... And maps are my passion... One of them. Where did you get this?
— As I said, it's my mother's... She's not a typical Kantinian. Before turning into a grumpy old hag fused with her hoe, she was a person. A cartographer.
— It all looks... so familiar... Where have I seen this before?..
Finnian raised a piercingly wary gaze to her, trying to remember something.
— What did you say your name was?
— I don't think I did. — the servicewoman shook her head. — Where are my manners... Ami. Amelia.
— And... your mother? — he momentarily froze, stunned, and narrowed his eyes distrustfully, finding a fragment with a signature among the scraps.
— Yvette. Not to be named at night.
Ami grimaced with distaste. It was nice that these mysterious notes interested someone else. But their origin...
— Yvette?! Yvette the Restless? — Finnian exclaimed in surprise. — Yvette the Restless Wanderer... is your mother?!
The icy haughtiness melted away surprisingly fast.
...What in the blazes. It was very good that he was interested... But the effect had clearly exceeded expectations. Where did he...
— You... know her? — Ami was utterly confused.
— A little, — Finnian nodded energetically. — More an acquaintance by reputation than personally... We studied in parallel courses at the University. She, even as a non-witch, was a luminary, a favourite of all the professors. To the envy and glee of the witches in our stream. In the Prime Library, incidentally, there are a couple of her anthropological works, also with notes and sketches... Very accurate and witty descriptions, by the way... and these maps... They're unique. I'd give a lot for these...
He bent over the scraps again...
— ...They're magnificent, — he breathed admiringly. — A great woman!
— I wish I could say the same about her... Not on my watch, apparently, — Ami chuckled darkly. — This is a scrap of even an average Kantinian woman at the moment. And... she never mentioned anything like this... It seems... you know her better than I do.
...Bitterness. So much bitterness. She could practically taste it.
...What is he so admiring? It sounds like they're talking about different people. Where is this so-called "great woman"? And by whose criminal negligence was some swamp-rot Ami foisted on her instead?..
Fine. Isn't this a reason to extract some benefit from her accursed origins? Finnian is clearly pleased with the situation. His already bright eyes are shining so much it's almost impossible to look at them.
At the very least, he won't kick her out for now. And, perhaps, as the ghouls would have it, he might even help with these wretched symbols and scraps?! That would be great.
— What else do you have... of your mother's life-worn treasures? Lay it out. And let's make a deal. A service for a service.
— Alright. Only, I don't have anything else with me. Just the ruins of my life that she left behind. But they hardly hold any research interest, — Amelia shrugged. — Everything else is left to rot in our Kantine shed.
— What a pity! — the agitated witch said, disappointed, pursing his lips and cheerfully glancing at the gloomy Ami. — Yvette is alive...
— I wouldn't state that so confidently. The shell is alive.
— As you say... Now I have some idea what happened to her. Professor Corri and I used to wonder over a tankard of ale — what abyss swallowed her up... I was inclined to think her dead. The professor was sure she'd stayed with the elves... They say time flies with them, because they themselves know no time. And we were both wrong!
Finnian suddenly beamed a radiant smile, the wrinkles around his eyes charmingly joining in his amusement.
— It turned out to be far more prosaic, — the Kantinian frowned.
— But you were right. The Yvette you apparently knew is gone.
— Well, well... — Finnian shook his head, apparently still unable to process the information. — I had the honour of attending one of her lectures... She was the very embodiment of a thirst for life, full of enthusiasm and a desire to uncover all the secrets of this Continent! And we were all sure that's exactly what she would do! For who, if not Yvette?! But... it means the mad and fearless Yvette... Settled in Kantine. Traded all this... for housekeeping and a family?! I... don't believe it, Ami! She was the most promising graduate! All those years at University... So much effort and work! Lectures, successes, awards, fighting the system's stagnation and chauvinism... And besides that. Field research. The famous, intriguing publications and... everything...
— ...sown to the gnats in the swamp. Yes. And why would she be happy after that, looking at it that way... Such are the stupid rules of our life, yes. First, Yvette was bent into a ring and rolled into a wall like construction hay, and then she dragged me along with her. No one leaves here unscathed. "Joys" enough for everyone.
— Sad, I must say.
— Yes, there's little good about it... This unrealised potential of hers is a terrible burden, not just for her.
— Didn't you ever go anywhere else... with these maps?
The servicewoman snorted in annoyance.
— Where would I go with them in Kantine?.. First I was trying to flee my homeland as soon as possible... Then I also didn't really have time for it. On my brief forays, I tried not to be overwhelmed by the excess of new information and impressions, to learn languages and practice pronunciation. And, of course, I was looking for work... It was a matter of survival. If I'd had even a hint of witch ability, I'd have been successful long ago. I wouldn't even have waited for exile. I'd have skipped away joyfully and voluntarily. Worked in decent Temples in another city... Or studied in one of the Prime academies... not all this, through sheer force.
— That wouldn't have been exile, it would have been a blessing. Why didn't you try to follow the beaten path, that you're Yvette's daughter? The Primes greatly respect lineage and would gladly have taken you in, remembering her. Or do you... want to achieve everything yourself?
— No, no... I'm ready for any dirty tricks and cunning schemes if it means escaping my city. In a matter like preserving my sanity, all means are good... Yvette herself never told me anything. I only just learned everything from you. Even for these maps, and indeed for trying to dig through her old half-rotted books and things in the shed, I got a serious thrashing... It was a dung-like way to attract some attention. But the berries, as you can see, were worth the trouble.
— Unquestionably.
...What a turn of events. Where is that soul-chilling, finger-freezing glare and icy tone now?
"Missing it already?"
Not in the least. But at least someone understands Ami's tragedy without the "Kantine is a wonderful city" line.
— In short... I needed precisely... to get away. For my psyche's sake. From life in one vampire city and in one house with this... object of your admiration. What's so great about her? I'd like to know... why all the luminaries converged on Yvette? Is the Mainland really so poorly studied? Where are people looking?
— Into their plates, mostly, — the witch smiled slyly and sadly. — Into their mugs. Sometimes at the sky, to see if it's going to rain. There are surprisingly few useless people roaming the Mainland... And as it turns out, now even fewer.
Finnian sighed.
— How rotten... — Ami shook her head in disbelief. — And I don't know how to start roaming to do research. And some people don't need to roam at all. It always amazed me that so little is known about elves that expeditions are needed, when there are Selvas who simply talk to elves. If Kele is to be believed, practically every light... Don't they... have any information?
— Depends on what kind of information you want. Selvas interact with elves as beings they've known for a long time. Mostly on everyday matters. In such relationships, you rarely ask about culture, customs, and alphabet. It's more about "how are you" and "what's the news".
— Now I'm obsessed with the idea of getting to the elves for... a very impolite conversation. Almost an interrogation.
— Getting anything out of them is a tricky business... The important thing is to formulate the question correctly, you see? They know and see a lot. And if they started telling everything they've seen, even just recently, it would take Aeons to translate all that multilayered mass into our language. They're immortal, after all. Whereas we might not live to see the end of the story. What's significant to us may be unimportant to them. And vice versa. Everything is equally interesting to them, and their "recently" is a very long period for us.
— Well, it's still better than the Aeon of meaninglessness my mother chose, wouldn't you agree? I... you know, I also don't understand how it all turned out in the end.
— What a story. I must say, I'm in shock... I believe you. But no one else would believe me! Or worse... there'd be gloating up to the ceiling. "You can't go against nature," they'll say. "You can't jump above your talentless head." What else do they say in such cases... Really... How could it! Such a bright mind... And such a terrible banality happened...
— My sisters and I have never been called that before, — Amelia chuckled. — But it's true. "Grumpy domesticity" could be our middle name.
The witch shook his white mane, trying to shake off the unpleasant feeling.
— She... surely found time for her old pursuits? — the concerned witch carefully smoothed out the pieces of the maps, as if seeking answers in them. — Such a passionate, energetic nature couldn't just up and quit everything. Stop fighting for what was dear to her... She was going to study... elves. That would have been fitting... Nothing's been done in that area for a while. Many hundreds of cycles. Maybe...
— Just accept it, — the Kantinian chuckled.
— Ah!.. Fine. Ami, I... heard nothing this light. Yvette will remain a bright figure in my memory.
The Archivist shrugged.
— Well... Requiescat in pace then. Trust a born Kantinian, Kantine is a more dangerous place than is commonly thought, — she grimaced with distaste. — The ancient gnats and ghouls have survived there in a pitiful state in every respect. They still drink blood and devour the souls of the lost. And I would mark that place on maps as a swamp.
— Swamps used to be home to bugbears and morras, if I recall... Those are more interesting than ghouls. Well... It happens. Maybe, as they usually say in such cases... Yvette had her fill of adventures, and she just wanted... peace. Or to experience something new.
The Temple woman snorted contemptuously.
— Then she chose a type of extreme, with stress and consequences, that she couldn't handle. Ceasing to be a cutting-edge researcher, as you say, she instead became the lousiest housewife of the foreseeable Aeon. And she... didn't look happy, let me tell you. Seriously. At the moment, she's nothing more than a bag of irritated grumbling and unmotivated aggression. Anyway, as you've gathered, what I got is what you see yourself. Scraps of secrets, faded traces of former glory. Something like alive on the outside, but utterly dead within. A shell. A walking corpse. Your idol flinches in terror even at the shadow of an ishitsa, at thunder, rain, and draughts. I can add nothing consoling to the obituary.
Finnian snorted in annoyance and bent over Ami's torn legacy once more, trying to piece the fragments together.
— Or let's put it this way... — the Secretary suggested jokingly. — That same Yvette is dead, turned into a clump of withered grass... But her pure soul still lives on in these works... Attracting others... hungry for the Mainland's secrets and staggering discoveries. And warning against a meaningless life.
— So be it... And these beautiful maps remain... However stupid and banal it sounds at the moment, everything that happens has its own meaning. And it will reveal itself to you, if you give it the chance... For now... Allow me to relieve you of the heavy burden of family history. Tell me, what do you want for them?
He quickly shot a piercing, testing look at his interlocutor.
Ami raised her eyebrows meaningfully.
— As I said... Access to your Archives. And information for my investigation.
— You shall have it all... And I'll try to piece this together in my spare time... I think we'll all find it interesting.
A good deal. And one less task. She could focus on the symbols.
— I certainly will. I don't have the qualifications to sort it out myself.
— Well then, it's settled... Good luck with your search. Whatever you're searching for.
Finnian tried to place another piece beside the array he had assembled, but it simply fell off the table. He needed to start assembling the other edge. Or move everything.
He hesitated.
— Right. Let's get down to business... The Archives are at your disposal. Clearly, you haven't had your fill of your own during the working light, so here are some extras. — the witch made a broad gesture. — Come on, I'll show you the entrance gesture. Since you have such an unrelenting thirst for knowledge. Don't bother memorising it too much; we change it every minor cycle...
— Even if I did bother! — Amelia spread her hands in annoyance. — It'd be useless. I'm a born hereditary non-witch. My inability to do witchery lets me down everywhere.
— Ah! Right... — the Head Witch caught on. — Sympathies. I'll open it, and the duty officers will seal it. Come on. As for non-witch, by the way, I might argue...
...Whaaaat?
— What do you mean? — Amelia frowned, not understanding.
— Literally. It's strange you haven't noticed it yourself, — he explained imperturbably. — You didn't trip over anything on your way here in the dark corridor. You have shadow vision.
— Consequences of sleep problems and anxiety. And night walks in the forest as a result. If only your words could reach the Universe's ears, but not... This can't be.
— You recently successfully resisted, albeit a very weak, but still, immobilisation spell, — this bossy ghoul added reluctantly with a slight smirk. — Of course, I wasn't trying very hard... Had to let you speak, since you'd trudged all the way here. Consider it a simple greeting.
— Quite a greeting... — Ami snorted in response, without any impractical resentment towards a vastly superior being. — I wish I could do that. I'd greet everyone who approaches my cubbyhole with their absurd work matters, interrupting my own.
— That's exactly what it's for, to keep them at a distance and not disturb. Take note. Although... receiving visitors is part of your mandatory job, but not mine. The labour code wouldn't agree with you there.
— I'd still abuse it... but I can't.
— Start being able to, — the witch stated in a matter-of-fact tone. — Practise. Now's the perfect time.
...Just like that, huh? As if they were talking about ordinary things.
— No... Well... Am I understanding correctly?.. This... I...
— A latent witch, — Finnian finished the impossible phrase for her. — A witch in the making. Practice and relentless training make a witch. It's all up to you. Learn. Practise. Nothing is unattainable. It'll be a bit difficult. Because of your age, habits, a number of other reasons... but who finds it easy these days, as they say in Kantine. Use your proverbial stubbornness and persistence. You have the inclinations, albeit weak. And you're never short on stubbornness or boredom. So, amuse yourself.
Finnian snorted with genuine amusement.
— Right. Let me process this. Now... I can't believe it... — Amelia breathed out, stunned.
— Doubting my professional competence?
— No. No, of course not, how could I... Only my own mind, which is about to give way. All these cycles of suffering... they... what? Were... in vain? Or is this... a dream, right? Any moment I'll wake up...
Finnian shrugged in bewilderment.
— Try. Not everyone manages it. Use a flick.
— A flick? I've heard about it, but...
— You don't even know that? How... have you lived until now? Surely you must have had suspicions. You weren't afraid of exile... Didn't you even secretly try to learn anything?
He looked at her attentively and searchingly.
The intense attention of a still handsome, albeit not young, man wasn't the scariest thing on the Mainland... but Finnian's piercing gaze still evoked an irrational feeling of unease. It was extremely uncomfortable to be under it.
But this feeling wasn't the strongest among those present inside. Compared to the overwhelming storm of grief, anger, and incomprehension. There had been so many this one evening.
Ami coughed hoarsely, unclenching her hands, red from nervous tension.
— No! — she exhaled angrily and desperately. — I was used to knowing I was nothing... In every way. Encouraging myself could have led to disaster... And now... Just think! They'll exile me! There's no way back to that swamp anymore! But I'm a nymph, by my ghoul-infested nostrils, I don't know a single bloody thing!! Why... was all this for?.. All those swampy cycles... You have no idea how joyful and painful it is for me at the same time... I'm about to burst from all this any moment!
The heat now blazed not only in her head, and tears were dangerously close.
...What is this...
"Your chance, one you might never have lived to see. Pull yourself together."
— Let's step out of my office then... to avoid damaging any important items. Or the interior. — the Head Witch suggested half-jokingly, half-worriedly.
Unable to appreciate the joke due to shock, Amelia nodded curtly.
The service personnel stepped out into the dark corridor and walked along a row of identical doorways, mostly without curtains.
They turned once. Then again. And again somewhere... Despite her best efforts, Ami wouldn't remember the way later.
Finally, they reached a doorway that seemed larger than the others.
Finnian quickly made an unsealing gesture.
— You... really don't know anything? — the witch clarified carefully, the full scale of the effect he'd had on the Kantinian only just dawning on him.
— Really don't know anything... — the non-witch sighed dejectedly, demonstratively running her hand, as the Omillians did, over another uncooperative, dim, semi-transparent vessel.
— Well... You need practice, — Finnian consoled, and, lightly touching it with the tips of his long, thin fingers, made the wretched flask emit light. — You know... get Milo to grant you permission to study here. You have the aptitude... I believe you can do it. Despite your age and everything else. It won't be boring, I promise... For both of us, in fact. I've never worked with unprepared adults before. It'll be an interesting experience. And an excellent topic for a dissertation! Yes.
The Head Witch clapped his hands enthusiastically and narrowed his eyes conspiratorially.
— Ooo! That would be happiness. After all this... Fine. I'd be honoured, — the Kantinian smiled sheepishly. — But... you'll regret it. There are usually plenty of problems with me...
— Nonsense! — the witch waved dismissively. — Start by discarding the old experience that tells you that. The past isn't in this room with us. But the lack of faith in your abilities will be a serious obstacle. Get rid of it.
Finnian snapped his fingers, and all the other lamps in the room lit up.
A chill ran down Ami's neck, and the hairs on her arms stood on end.
— Yes... — Ami chuckled incredulously. — Already...
— I never said it would be easy...
The Head Witch raised an eyebrow with an air that brooked no argument. He turned to leave, but paused for a moment, as if remembering something.
— Allow me to make your task a little easier...
— Yes? — the Kantinian perked up, all ears.
— If you truly want to leave something... Or somewhere. Focus not on your desire to be rid of it, but on your desire to reach the goal. Simply put... We go where we look. And you need to look where you're going. Understood?
— Couldn't be clearer. But how will that help me?
— Directly. We were talking about Kantine.
Amelia frowned.
— No, wait... When I wanted to escape Kantine, I wasn't just abstractly wanting something. I studied languages, looked for work, tried to settle in other cities... I was very focused on the result. It didn't help me.
— All I heard were thoughts about escape. Not a sincere interest in the new, not gratitude for the old. Pure hatred. Isn't that so?
— It is. Denying it is useless.
— Then the error here is in your attitude and motivation. In a convulsive grip of control instead of flexible observation and flow. People gripped by a life-or-death goal usually aren't up for games and theory.
— That's... true, — Ami confirmed. — Stop seeing right through me. Your gaze makes me uncomfortable.
Finnian raised an eyebrow questioningly.
— Then I won't be able to help you.
— Exactly... Sorry, please. I asked to study here. I'm not complaining! On the contrary, I'm grateful to you with all my being... It's all so sudden... You've shattered my psyche with happy news... Happiness wasn't in my script either.
— This isn't just some "happiness". It's a potential acquisition, still requiring a lot of work, — Finnian winked at her and swiftly departed.
Amelia, in a mild stupor, trying to digest what she'd heard, seemed not to notice.
...All these cycles... Of non-existent problems and needless suffering. Why?..
...The famous mother. And not a bit of use from it... Only harm, in fact. Why didn't she say anything?.. She must have seen I was interested.
Jealous wretch... afraid I might surpass her.
The newly-fledged witch began to examine the shelves of tablets.
The witchgraph of the symbols had gone with the maps and Finnian, and the stunned Amelia had completely forgotten to ask him what it all was, what it meant, what these symbols were, what locations and notes they indicated?..
Fine...
Now was the time to search for information on current cases, using her newly acquired archival instinct, experience, and improved knowledge of Omillian. She had to extract some benefit from all this.
And she could pester Finnian again later. He'd promised.
And he'd already fulfilled one promise. She had the entire Witchium Archive at her personal disposal for the whole night! And it seemed... this was the most beautiful place on the Mainland!
Yes, it was.
In the soft light, on the pleasingly coloured shelves, stood... an enormous number of tablets! Previously unread tablets with information Ami would never have been able to access under normal circumstances... Treasures!
She'd have to study all the volumes at once in one night...
"And then briskly go to work, yeah."
Who cares. It's worth it. It's worth all the lights before this meaningless life.
...How beautiful it is here!
Cosy little benches with colourful small cushions and elegant backs stood near comfortably spaced-apart tables.
So much cosiness in one small clay space, just imagine.
All these already wonderful things were situated under a huge dome, through which you could see, it seemed, the entire sky... Probably, if it were up to her, the Kantinian would lie on the floor and stare at the sky, the rain, the clouds, and the rising and setting luminaries through this dome for several lights.
But... there was no time to admire the luxurious interior.
...Time was very limited. Joy of joys and sorrow of sorrows simultaneously. What a light of mixed emotions...
How not to get lost amidst all this magnificence? And where to begin?
Ami approached the shelves, starting to look for something with a more or less suitable title. It was quite difficult to get oriented...
The Omillian cataloguing system was fundamentally different from the Kantinian one. And the witch's system, in turn, was impressively different from the one at the Truth Station.
She'd have to get used to everything anew. She couldn't rearrange things here to suit herself. And Ami wouldn't even try anymore. How much time could she spend on that?
Greedily grabbing a stack of tablets from one of the shelves almost at random, the servicewoman, deciding to make full use of at least the luxurious interior, plopped down at an elegant table and began studying.
The volume wasn't exactly on her topic. But no less interesting for that. Terribly interesting, to be honest!
How long the researcher spent completely immersed in reading on the comfortable colourful little sofa among the cushions, she didn't know. Books always absorbed her entirely and for a long time. It must have been late at night.
She found the strength to tear her gaze away from the clay with its captivating reading material and shift it to the transparent clay of the ceiling.
...Oh. You. Almost... dawn. And... what beauty! Now that's a window! Super!
All across the ceiling. Throughout the entire building. Not like...
Everything inside froze with delight. The Archivist coughed admiringly.
...Actually, it's very airy, spacious, and bright here. To the bogs with those impenetrably dark Archives! She needed to move in with the witches... With all her tablet stock. Or better without it. She'd probably already studied almost everything interesting in it anyway. Ah, moss take it...
Just look. Here she was, Amelia from Kantine, just sitting on a chic little sofa! Reading classified documents from the Omill Witchium.
...A dream come true!
Only now she was so sleepy she couldn't tell if this was real or if she was in some other world... The Witchium Archive was slowly becoming shrouded in mist. Was it the fault of these unrealistically beautiful witch lamps with their sky-violet glow? Their light was so lovely you couldn't tear your eyes away... And there were so many of them...
Oh, that's not a lamp. It's one of the morning luminaries.
...She hadn't noticed how she'd ended up outside.
But this... is wrong. She needed to go hand the Archives over to the duty officers so they could seal them again. She couldn't do it herself. Not yet.
Well, she'd go back in a moment. Just admire the sky first, after spending so long indoors, even with a huge transparent ceiling, does no one any good.
...What beauty...
The sky is always beautiful.
...Even if the piece of the Mainland you're standing on is hurtling straight towards the Ocean.
What?! Where is everyone? What's happening? Why isn't anyone trying to do anything about it? Why... Has everyone come out of their kottis and are just watching?
Amelia looked around anxiously.
...Well, really. What can you do? You just have to live in the middle of the Ocean. Until... the food runs out. At least it's... oh, no... She's no longer in Omill! How quickly things change...
...She's doomed! Doomed to spend the rest of her life in the middle of the Ocean, in Kantine, from which there is now absolutely no escape! The fear of her whole life had become reality... What to do?
The same as everyone else, apparently.
Someone's just getting drunk, somewhere they're laughing, over there they're crying, some are sitting motionless staring into space... Do they even... understand what's happening? Or... not?
Amelia didn't understand either. She'd have to ask someone.
She tried to attract people's attention, but it was useless.
...Not surprising. The fog around was impenetrable, as was the utter darkness in which they'd been sailing for what seemed like an eternity. The people themselves simply couldn't see anything and couldn't know. Look, some of them had already gone mad and were just howling at the top of their lungs...
...A few more voices from the fog joined them. Eerie...
Someone very close... was muttering. Something. Inappropriate, incomprehensible. Also mad.
"Two hundred, two hundred channels, nothing to see... Nothing, nothing to see..."
Ami looked around to ask what this person was talking about, but saw no one. There really was nothing and no one to see. The fog and darkness had consumed everything visible, leaving only scattered human voices.
Here, you couldn't even see your own hand... or your own legs. Oh...
Fear and despair gripped her entire being in a cold, hard clutch.
...Is this... death? Yes?
Not just drifting and hunger, but having to stay forever in this otherworldly reality?.. Forever... forever?
...There's no body, you can't return to the dense world...
Wait... sensations remain! And someone is thinking here! There is someone else here!
But who?! Who sees this? Who hears all this, if there's no one?..
...And who is thinking this? And why?..
A multitude of unanswered questions froze in stupor.
...We've done it now. Now even the thoughts, frightened by something, have vanished. Couldn't summon a single one... But at least there was no panic either. Who's to be afraid if there's no one?
"And there never was anyone," — the understanding spread like light through her being.
No you, no people, no fog. There is nothing. The sky around is clear. And there is no sky either, actually... Only this Eternal Blackness in all directions.
Do whatever you want. Or nothing. The outcome is the same.
On a non-existent exhale, with a flash, the Temple woman tumbled back into the dense world. She shuddered, and the tablet that had fallen from her hands slid off her lap.
Thank goodness it didn't break.
Bending over to pick up the victim of her sleep deprivation, Amelia, unable to stay on her feet, fell to her knees and, ignoring the slight pain and drowsy weakness, the now-familiar ringing in her ears and the glowing spots in her peripheral vision, crawled toward the fallen tablet.
The Archivist carefully picked up the unfortunate document and remained powerlessly sitting with it on the floor.
...Why can't everything be simple? What's the point of all this?
"What were you expecting? To deal with this unknown weird stuff and still remain in the comfort of usual life? That won't work, my friend."
She shook her head gently, clearing away the remnants of the sterile, vacuum-like nightmare, and frowned, snorting in displeasure.
It was a dream after all... What a relief. Time to hand over one Archive and receive another.
The lamps were no longer lit. Yawning, in search of the duty officers, the servicewoman reached Finnian's office.
But he was already there himself. And his desk was completely cleared of everything except the scraps of the map.