FOR WHAT SEEMED like several hours (and according to the large, mahogany clock on the wall had been a mere hour and a half), Mongoya rambled. He had explained everything that was currently wrong about Araktéa, ranging from the delayed policy to keep refugees out to the realm granting one of the patronesses to take over after her late husband (whom he insisted had died under peculiar circumstances). It all came down to one root cause, and according to him, everything had been different before the revolution. For anybody that might be remotely concerned with politics, or that had time to spare, his improvised lecture would’ve probably been an interesting one. Not only because he was undoubtedly knowledgeable, but because he spoke and moved like a stage performer. Even when Isaiah felt clueless as to the places or people he was referring to, he had a way of keeping his attention from flickering. Staring at him with those mesmerizing eyes. Still, he had little interest in Araktéan politics, and even less time for theater. Finally, when he felt he’d been patient and agreeable for long enough, he realized that if he didn’t interrupt, he would keep on talking till the sun went down.
“You’re very generous to share your view on these most important subjects, Master Mongoya. Where I’m from we sadly know very little of economy and infrastructure, as we use the old system for the most part.”
“Of course, Deltans have always been a little behind. I know that boy, I am merely trying to enlighten you, seeing that you are here now. Many Nagariáns will claim capitalers have entered a more enlightened era. I never thought I would say this, but somehow being slow and immovable in your thinking, has ended up serving your kind rather well in the end.” Mongoya confessed. Seen away from the many noblemen (functioning as patrons in the larger villages), Delta had remained rather unchanged after the revolution.
“Surely, and I thank you for sharing your knowledge, Master. I am sure that when I find my grandfather, he will agree with you on all you’ve spoken of. He always told me everything beyond Delta was on its way to becoming a wild thorn-bush of misery.”
“Oh, is this what he has taught you?” Isaiah had learned to be careful when speaking ill of the rest of Araktéa, noticing how easily people tended to get offended. It was only since the Master had been expressing his dislike of Nahbí so intensely, he’d dared to. It was a bold move and for once it had little to do with his love for Delta, and more to do with his cover. After an hour of silence, he needed to make sure that when he finally spoke, he would seem like a man with an opinion – perhaps even one of character.
“Yes.” He affirmed simply, biting the insides of his cheeks.
“Ha! Misery… misery barely covers it. First I was surprised he hadn’t sent you to study here, but it seems it is a good thing in fact. The new academy is nothing compared to what ours once was. People come with hopes of learning something… and they learn, but nothing of importance, and so they too become unimportant – a waste of space – flocking around the city with their skinny, pointless books… thinking themselves knowledgeable. Ha! Fools all of them.” The subtle twitches of resentment that’d momentarily appeared on his face, now seemed to be spreading through his body so intensively, Isaiah almost worried it would shoot out through his cane. The old man seemed almost obsessed about moving the thing around, making it seem closer to an extension of his left arm, than something to lean on. Though the anger wasn’t directed at him, Isaiah felt a need to speak more cautiously.
“I’ve been fortunate enough to have my grandfather as my teacher, Master Mongoya. He said all he had ever learned he’d learned from you.” There was a chance he’d overdone the flattery, but thus far it seemed the Master’s boundaries, as far as compliments were concerned, went far beyond the average range.
“What you are trying to say then,” Master Mongoya said, drumming his fingers over the cane, “Is that in a way, you are almost one of my students...”
“Oh… naturally, I would never think of myself…” The Master started laughing, and Isaiah paused, unsure if it was out of mockery or sudden epiphany.
“How endearing. Brilliant! Now, I still believe you might just be a simple, Deltan manling, but there might be some hope for you after all – if there is hope left for any of us…” The old man rolled his eyes, and then wandered over to one of the large windows, which even from a long distance had a clear view of the city. Thus far, Isaiah had been standing uncomfortably still, moving his weight from leg to leg, hoping to be offered a seat. Now, he finally felt it might be acceptable for him to move, and so he followed along.
“Hope?” He asked and Mongoya sighed. He hadn’t spoken, and even less so felt, this sensation for the past two decades. Likewise, he had fallen into the threshold of hope before, only to discover it’d been the temptress of desperation who’d lured him there.
“Now that you no longer need to take care of your grandfather, you might finally become something.” He stated matter-of-factly.
“With all the respect, Master. I have not given up hope on bringing him home. And even if you were right, Sir – which you seem to be regarding most subjects – I would need to find him and make sure he is given an honorable death. We bury our dead in Delta, as I’m sure you know.” Mongoya turned towards him, and for the first time he found him impossible to read. Isaiah struggled to keep his own iron face in place, as the causal implication of his grandfather having permanently vanished, made him feel like running out of the room sobbing. Forced to stand still, listening to his lengthy rambles had already taken so many layers of iron, he felt sure his head would fall off if he didn’t get out of there soon. “He is alive. And Mongoya knows where.” He heard himself think and just then his wrinkled face twitched.
“You’re not ready to bury anyone, boy…” He hissed and turned on his foot. Up till then, Isaiah had felt confident he was at least not boring him. He knew how much Lord Huxley hated people who bored him, and thought pure speculation, he suspected this to be one of the characteristics men like them shared, though they were certainly not the same when it came to temper.
“Just like your grandfather – you refuse listening to sense.” The Master’s voice echoed through the room, and he then made his way up the stairs of his pendulum again at a hasty pace.
“I did not mean to offend you, Master…”
“Offend? You could not offend me if you tried, silly child.” Mongoya spit. “I must say…” he began, his tone still sharp as a blade, as his hands flickered through something inside one of the drawers of his desk. “I am surprised you came here first, not because it was a directly unintelligent decision, but having Theodore as your teacher, it should be obvious where he has gone to. This makes me question your mental capacity…”
“It seems he has… changed over the years, Master.”
“Perhaps a man can change, at least slightly… and as I told you before – we have not spoken for decades. If this had been forty years ago, I would have had no doubt about where he’d gone to. But even now, it is still obvious.” He came down the stairs again, less patiently this time, and holding a large roll of paper in his right hand along with the cane.
“Consider yourself lucky. Few have witnessed what you are about to see.” He announced as his foot reached the second last step. This time, Isaiah was certain he hadn’t been lucky. He’d earned this information with attentiveness and patience. Every last bit of it.
There was a long, wine red table standing towards the wall on the right end of the room. Here, Master Mongoya finally unrolled his secret, and as Isaiah had half-expected already – it was a map.
“Where is this?” he asked. He’d seen a few maps of Araktéa before, but this one seemed to be covering something else – a smaller area. Sir Mongoya looked at him in annoyed disbelief.
“For the sake of the gods, is it still not obvious?” Isaiah wanted to suggest something – anything – but he was clueless. It was beautifully painted, but it had no implications regarding the measures and didn’t even include any readable names.
“What is it exactly Theodore has been teaching you? I’m not surprised he’s neglected politics, but he must have taught you something. History, Literature, Astrology?”
“Mostly practical subjects, master. Botany… some Biology, Cooking.” The master had suddenly gone silent, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he was so taken by his map or because he was thinking. He glared down at the brownish paper, as if seeing it for the first time, mumbling something inaudible in between tight lips, and then he sighed loudly.
“Cooking,” he said tonelessly, and Isaiah regretted having mentioned it, “Botany…” he chuckled, rolling his eyes.
“We’ve been living a simple life...” The master held up a hand to stop him.
“I know Theodore is a man of wide knowledge and various interests. Compared to this...” he said, his long, scorny finger pointing to the middle of the map.
“He cared next to nothing about any of it. No… all he ever cared about were these bloody woods. You should have seen his eyes during my early lectures. The Parda was his first love – that I can assure you of.” His icy eyes had intensified, and his lower lip had a slight tremble to it as he spoke.
“The… the Parda?” Isaiah stuttered. “It can’t be.” He thought and seeing Raziel’s strange grin he felt he had to be playing with him. That an educated man would suggest, that he would even consider, that this was where his grandfather had headed to, was absurd.
“Surely, Sir Mongoya, he can’t have gone to such a place. Now please, if you would just tell me where he is for time is already scarce…” He heard his tone growing more impatient and had to use every last bit of poise left in him. He was done with his theatrical nonsense and felt a sudden urge to shake the man like a puppet, till he told him what he knew – if he knew anything. He tightened his fist instead. Focused on the pain of his nails digging into his palms. They stood there for some moments. Glared at each other, much like two hungry dogs ready to get into a fight over a meaty bone.
“Explain your ignorance on the matter.” Mongoya barked.
“As anyone with sense, I am aware the Parda is real…”
“That it is real? Real?” the words echoed through the room, his blue eyes as fiery as blue could get. “The Parda is more real than any other place you will ever step your feet upon.” He rolled the map back together protectively – in a way that made Isaiah understand this was no trick. He wasn’t having fun on his behalf, nor was he testing his current base of knowledge. The Great Master Mongoya was convinced his grandfather had enough interest in this forest to seek it. To this, Isaiah did not know what to say, and so he said nothing at all. Instead, he stared into the air, with an urgency to both laugh and cry at the same time. It just couldn’t be true, and surely this man, too, had to have gone mad with age. Both of them stood still in front of the table for a while, as the confused silence grew into an unpleasant one. It was finally broken by an “Oh”, and as Mongoya turned towards him, Isaiah was surprised to see a wicked grin spread across his face, before he burst out laughing.
“Now I understand!” He held both his arms out, and Isaiah flinched back an inch as he almost hit him with his cane.
“Botany, cooking… all things uninteresting and dull. All things safe to hear and seemingly unproblematic to engage in.”
“I don’t unders—” He hushed him, unfinished with his stream of thoughts, and the loose ends that finally seemed to be untying in his mind.
“No – no, you don’t understand. You don’t understand even in the slightest. But I do, I see what has happened here. This is all just marvelous. Awful – but marvelous too.” Isaiah wanted to ask for an explanation, for though he doubted he could fully trust anything leaving this wise man’s mouth, he was still curious as to what he thought him not to understand. By now, he knew it happened to be a great many things.
It took a minute or two before Mongoya’s almost soundless rambling slowed down, and when he re-composed himself, he hurried the map back up to his desk and returned with a serious expression.
“Whether you believe it or not, your grandfather has gone to the Parda. You can look for as long as you like anywhere else, but you will never find him. Very few have entered and less have come back alive. Sending an untrained individual as yourself would be reckless and foolish.”
“I am ready to go there, Master. I am just surprised since… I was under the impression that the tales told about the Parda were…exaggerated.” He wanted to say village lore but held his tongue.
“Whatever it is you have heard, are likely just that – cock and bull stories we call them here. Not necessarily even old ones and mostly just rubbish. All tales come from somewhere, though.”
“I am ready to take the chances. Whatever might be the truth of it.”
“The truth of it?” He asked – or rather – he shouted.
“No, no, you fool. You are by no means ready to go there. I don’t care how skilled you believe yourself to be with a sword. How confident you feel in whatever other forests you’ve been to, or how well traveled you are…” Isaiah swallowed against the lump in his throat.
“Have you been there yourself, Master?” he asked, wanting to avoid the topic of his many, nonexistent accomplishments.
“Ha! Of course not, I don’t do this sort of labor. I am a teacher. An academic that is here to provide guidance for the ones worthy of it.”
“Could you teach me then? Like you taught the twelve?”
“As I told you before, even if you had any sort of potential – which I doubt you do – it’s too late for it.”
“So it is true. He did teach the twelve.” Isaiah thought, and then he asked, “Is there any way I could prove my… potential to you?”
“Let me be clear. Even the ones who might be considered capable of entering the Parda, need proper preparation to have any chance in there. You are nowhere close to any of the ones who’ve gone before you, nor would you have the time to reach their competence.”
“I don’t care how dangerous it is. I need to go there. Please, Master, if you could just lend me the map, I promise to bring it back.“
“Lend you the map? How many maps like these do you think exist? One - one map in the entire world, and if you think for a second, I would hand it over to you – less than a manling – then your grandfather’s supposed madness has surely been inherited.” From the mere tone of his voice – not as loud as before, but somehow more threatening – Isaiah knew he had overstepped. He should have known by the way he’d looked at it, but being at least as infuriated, he had to swallow the words he felt like saying. He calmed himself, hoping Mongoya’s temper was of the hot, rather than the long-lasting kind.
“I apologize for overstepping, Master. Perhaps if you could just tell me the direction, so I could be on my way and leave you to your important work, Sir.” He tried, in a tone so composed, he felt anyone would have thought him a noble man.
“No, no, no boy. You have this all wrong. Your ignorance on the matter is simply outrageous.” He shook his head, seemingly frustrated, but underneath it, Isaiah sensed something very different – something curiously close to excitement.
“The Parda is not a place someone can just show you the way too, you need to know the way to her before you enter. What some might consider unexplainable things have happened there, and though one can never be prepared for any of them, one must know certain things not to go in completely blindfolded.” He was back to lecturing now, his eyes glittering, and his anger just barely lurking under the surface of what Isaiah now saw as a pasty, soulless face.
“What sorts of things, Master?”
“There is no reason for a young man like yourself to know of such darkness. Better if you went back home while it might still be there.” Perhaps for men like him, home was nothing but high walls and a too large, lonesome bed to sleep in. Perhaps he did not understand family since he did not have one, or perhaps he was just saying it to trigger him. Either way, this was not something he would tell him about. He would tell him exactly what he wanted to hear.
“I’ll do anything if you teach me about the Parda, Master Mongoya.”
“What would you have to offer me, boy?” His response was fast. So fast, Isaiah knew he’d prepared for it.
“To me, it seems you have everything you need, Master. But if anything said of the Parda is true, then I dare suggest that perhaps there’s also a treasure inside?”
“You want to fetch me the supposed, ancient gold hidden in there, is that right?” Isaiah nodded eagerly.
“There is no such thing. That is just some childish cock and bull story. Besides – I can make my own gold. You should know that much.”
“Of course, Master. As I said, I’ve been told you are a very skilled alchemist, which is why I didn’t offer you the few gold coins I have, in exchange for the map. But perhaps then, there is something else in there of your liking? Rare plants…”
“Stop, stop – enough about plants now.” He held both his hands up and twisted his head to one side to shake off his annoyance.
“I don’t care for them. I am convinced there is something of value beyond gold in there.”
“I will get it for you – whatever it might be.” The Master looked like he was considering his proposal for a moment. But Isaiah knew he wasn’t. He was much too clever. Too clever, not to know desperation when he saw it, and too wicked not to take advantage.
“I would have to spend hours and hours lecturing you… and you will more likely than not fail the mission and disappear…”
“I am the son of Ares. If anyone can find it, it will be me.” For a flare of a second, something changed along the lines of the Master’s face. It left as soon as it’d come, again being replaced by that immovable arrogance. Still, Isaiah had spotted it – and even if it hadn’t been actual admiration, there was surely less disrespect there than his words revealed.
“Oh, do not get overly confident. Your father might have been the last known man to enter, but he too failed, just like the others, and now, too many people fail to talk about that fact.”
“Please, Master – teach me.” There was a long silence, before Raziel Mongoya finally said, “Huh.” He sat down behind his desk, holding his hands together casually and studying some of his rings.
“Consider yourself privileged, boy, and don’t you ever raise your voice at me again, understand?” Isaiah nodded, and though his expression was strict and serious, his eyes could not lie – not even from afar. It was quite obvious he was content, looking at him much like a child would look at a new toy. It seemed as if Raziel Mongoya owned him differently than any other master ever had.