THE IMPOSSIBLE PLAN became for Isaiah to learn everything he needed to know within a period of five days, with the initiation day counting as day zero. As the master had initially made a point out of, this was far too short, as well as far too long, if he was both to find his grandfather alive and come out in one piece. It might have seemed like a hopeless, if not an impossible quest altogether, but he had found Mongoya within a day of entering the city. He had convinced him to make him his student – though it hadn’t been his initial intention – and so, there seemed to be a certain hope rising within him. Hope there perhaps was something guiding him. Something unseen that he couldn’t touch or make sense of. Perhaps for the first time, he had something resembling true confidence and though it seemed to be of the naïve, childlike sort, he was committed to holding on to it as tightly as he could to get through the lessons.
Returning his mind to more realistic considerations, he reminded himself that his grandfather had left Delta no more than a day before himself. Adding to that, he and Cyra had ridden fast, and even if Nagár was a slight detour from the south, it seemed unlikely he had gotten much further than them. There was an actual possibility he was currently on his way to his old teacher. If so, he would be there waiting for him, which would undoubtedly be the most preferable solution to their troubles. On the less desirable spectrum of possibilities, he’d left his fear of horses behind and was already on his way over those vicious mountains. With this in mind, Isaiah had carefully suggested to the master it might be better to find him before he reached the Parda at all. To this, he’d replied that unless Isaiah knew how to go through all six routes leading through the mountains at once, that was the worst idea he’d ever heard, and if he ever mentioned such nonsense again, he would have him expelled. Nahbí was a place of many paths – so many, that finding anyone (and even more so someone as specific as a grandfather) could only be done by going directly to their final destination.
Despite his annoyance, Isaiah suspected he was perhaps right and had agreed he wouldn’t leave before the final day. Just to be sure he would not get any similar “wild thoughts”, Mongoya made him sign a contract. Being nothing but a large piece of paper, stating the terms the two of them had already agreed on, Isaiah had no objection to this and for the first time he signed “Isaiah Aronin” with big, proud letters.
Once everything had been formally settled and signed, the Master announced they were ready to start.
“You told me Theodore had taught you some of our modern history, correct?”
“He has, Master.”
“Very well. It can’t have been more than a fraction. It is about time you knew the truth of the events leading to the revolution in forty-four.” Though he couldn’t quite see what it had to do with the Parda, Isaiah felt ever so curious to hear about it from someone outside of the fortress (it was hardly among the most debated subjects, and often spoken of with a certain caution). The excitement shortly washed off, as Mongoya saw it necessary to first cover all of Araktéa’s history. He was kept from asking about its relevance, as one of the Master’s primary rules had been not to interrupt him. Slow hours went by before the old man paused. Isaiah got ready to speak but had to stop himself as his teacher placed one strict finger in front of his lips. He looked as if he was listening for something, but other than the wind carefully drumming a branch towards the window (no differently than it had done since he arrived), Isaiah couldn’t hear a sound. Finally, Raziel moved his finger and pointed it towards the door. Nobody had knocked, but he kept on staring at it intently, and then turned impatiently towards Isaiah.
“Eavesdropper.” He whispered, almost inaudibly from the top of his pendulum, then more exaggeratedly, but still silently, he gestured for him to open it. Isaiah walked, confused as to who would care to listen to a lecture – not to say, how Mongoya would’ve heard someone listening with his aging ears. He was surprised when he opened the door, for instead of an empty space of paranoia, it was a round pair of brown, frightened eyes that met his.
“Who’s there?” the Master’s voice echoed through the room, and Isaiah’s mouth shaped into a questioning hole of a sort. He was ready to say something, but the young man sat down on his knees – clearly scared witless, silently begging for his silence.
“Nobody.” He heard himself saying, then closed the door as he gave the boy a sharp look. He’d made him break the Master’s second rule on day one – No lies.
“Is that so?” Isaiah shrugged. He still could have admitted to such a fresh lie perhaps, but he didn’t want to be the reason a young boy lost his workstation – and less so an ear. This was of course no longer a legal practice in modern times but seeing Mongoya’s preference for anything conservative, he sensed it wouldn’t stop him.
“You must have heard the wind. It is quite wild today.”
“I know the wind and it certainly doesn’t sound anything like unwelcomed ears.” Mongoya barked. “Since I am up here, and you have already checked, there seems to be no other option than for me to trust you.” Isaiah felt relieved, surprised, and though certain lying had been the right thing to do in the situation, he even felt the slightest bit of guilt. Breaking a man’s trust was not something to be taken lightly – especially a proud man like Mongoya. Luckily, he was much too eager to resume where he’d left off to notice the cracks in his iron.
“So, as I was saying, after King Amnos the second had been removed, the revolutionists decided to put one of their own on the throne. The issue, of course, was that he was just another somewhat charismatic individual that had led a dozen protests or so. In the spirit of victory, very dumb ideas can seem like very good ones you see, and thus everyone was convinced he’d be the ideal leader of the country. Can you guess what went wrong?” It was the first time he’d asked him a question regarding the actual lecture.
“Perhaps he wasn’t fit to rule…”
“Obviously not – I already told you that. What exactly are the qualities that would make a man fit to rule? What makes him a good king?”
“I… I don’t know, Master. Knowledge… Patience? Strength?” The Master glared down at him, impatient and unimpressed with these hopeful adjectives.
“And? Do you think this is all?”
“I apologize, my knowledge of our kings is not very broad, Master.”
“The only thing we should ever care to learn from our kings, is hidden in their mistakes – so you’re not a complete fool for not knowing of them. The idea of a man being strong is an ancient way of thinking, boy. Only primitive tribal men need physical strength to lead. What a real king needs to succeed is a mind sharp as a sword, and most importantly he must be strategic. The revolutionists all thought themselves to be strategists, and this was reaffirmed when they overturned the realm, but once this was done, they only saw what they wanted to see. They were not able to admit to themselves; they’d merely been lucky. They also ignored the fact that they had made a mess out of things. Do you understand the mess they caused, boy?”
“A great many people died, Master.” Isaiah tried, not wanting to suggest any number.
“Thousands. But I am mostly talking about the destruction. People are born all the time – gross masses of them.” He said, clearly disgusted. “Ancient buildings – and books – are irreplaceable. And that is what made it not only bad but unforgivable.” He thought it to be a very sinister point of view, but kept quiet.
“Don’t you have questions?” Isaiah took a breath. He couldn’t appear disengaged, and so he asked what he’d felt the most puzzled about.
“Forgive me, Master, but I’ve been under the impression that you were among the ones wanting the revolution to happen.” He was underplaying this, of course, for what he’d been told was that Raziel Mongoya had been one of its main advocates. Hearing this, the Master’s face turned red, and Isaiah was certain he’d poked another nerve he should’ve never had gotten close to.
“I will only forgive you for this mindless assumption because it’s a common one.” He spit.
“I condemned it. The old realm was far from perfect, the Amnos rulers usually not as wise as one would wish, and the system insufficient in a great many ways. Still, change is not something one must aim for in itself. One must have a straight vision of where one is going with it. That was my intent with my writings and lectures. It seemed that I overestimated my students’ brightness, not to mention their patience. In only a few weeks’ time, they’d made a mockery out of me and speared my good reputation. Your grandfather too - not to mention your grandmother. Elora was among the worst of them – but she has paid for her sins and I no longer carry any resentment towards her. Worry not...” Isaiah’s grandmother had given birth to Ares the very same day the revolutionists had taken over the city. She’d died in labor and Isaiah had oftentimes wondered how it would have been like to have her around growing up. Though his grandfather spoke little of her, and had always seemed content just being the two of them, he was sure she had been the love of his life and not some strange forest.
“Did you know her well, Master?” He was hesitant to ask, but knew it might be the only chance he’d ever get to know something about her, other than the fact she’d had fiery, red hair and a laugh that could make almost any crowd stand up and dance.
“She was my student.” Mongoya responded plainly. “One of my better ones, I must admit. A bit of a wild card… tremendous ideas, clever but way too impulsive. Poor Theodore had a hard time keeping up with her. I never quite understood how they came together in the first place – a very unlikely couple.”
“My grandfather loves playing cards…” Isaiah said, and the Master made something of a frowning chuckle.
“Does he now?”
“I believe they were happy together.”
“Happiness… such a misunderstood concept.” He sighed.
“Is it?” He felt odd discussing such things with him, but he was interested to know more about his family – even if he would never be able to meet any of them.
“Both of them were ready for change and hungry for truth, but different parts of it. Elora was always more fond of the pleasures in life. She loved the parties and the spirit this city once cradled. Not to say spreading the youth’s revolutionary ideas. Theodore took his studies more seriously, far more reasonable – most of the time. I told him early on ‘that woman will always be reckless, and you will always be too patient with her.’” Isaiah felt surprised he knew so much about his grandparents. He could almost picture it, the two of them – young and promising in what they thought would be a new and better Araktéa. He hoped Robert was right. That it wasn’t too late.
“Brighten up now, Elora was happy enough while she lived. She walked these streets as if she owned them – back when there was still space for such pretentiousness. She wouldn’t have enjoyed this world she participated in making.” Mongoya cleared his throat.
“Anyhow – enough about this personal nonsense and let us move on to my favorite subjects: the three-day king, and how the Amnos family came back to power after his tyranny.”
*
When his first lesson finally came to an end, the giant clock on the wall appeared to be just past midnight. After abruptly declaring himself done, Mongoya had handed him a book. He’d told him to read it, and then he’d left the room wordlessly. The title said “The Early History of Araktéa”, and despite the agony of having to read, and the exhaustion from listening to Mongoya’s voice for almost a whole day, Isaiah felt content to at least be spending the night indoors. His host had said nothing about where he would sleep, and in lack of options, he made his way to the sofa. It was made of a dark purple velour. Narrow, stiff and clearly not made for anything other than sitting up very straight. He thought it would still be more comfortable than laying on the ground, but somehow this wasn’t the case.
Coming to terms with the furniture’s impractical design, he decided to start reading his curriculum – thinking there couldn’t be anything better to bring him to sleep. He reread the same three pages thrice with little more comprehension than if it’d been a different language entirely. This cycle was finally interrupted by the door being pushed open. It was pushed as silently as a door of the sort possibly could and left him holding his breath. First, he pretended to be asleep (not wanting a conversation or confrontation if it could be avoided). Only when hearing the sound of something larger than a cane being dragged over the floor, he opened his eyes. He just barely dared to turn his head to peek, but when he did – half expecting to see a ghost of some sort – he felt relieved to see it was a boy, no – the boy, standing on top of a ladder leaning towards one of the grand shelves.
“What are you doing?” The boy gasped, then turned around so abruptly he got close to falling. Regaining his balance, he was quick to rush down the fifteen steps of the wooden ladder.
“I’m sorry for startling you!” Isaiah said as he sat up.
“No, no. It’s fine. I am just surprised you are… still in here.” Isaiah noticed how much taller he was now that he was no longer on his knees. Tall and lean, narrower over the shoulders than himself, yet not skinny. His posture straight, his black west open but his linen shirt nicely tied in a loose hanging bow.
“And I am surprised that you are… here.”
“Yes. I’m so terribly sorry, Sir. I thought he would have placed you somewhere…more comfortable. I will leave you to rest now.” He said, turning away and then looking at him again, “First, I would like the opportunity to thank you – for earlier, that is.” Once again, he felt awkward being addressed as Sir, but took the opportunity to use the heightened position.
“Were you eavesdropping before?” The boy, or rather – the young man only slightly older than himself if he were to guess, was about to say something but then stopped himself.
“I was. I beg of you, Sir – it took a great deal of trouble for my family to send me here. Please, don’t tell him. I’m just a chef with an inconvenient and distasteful curiosity.”
“I won’t,” Isaiah assured him, “but may I ask why?”
“Why?” the boy said, sudden disbelief spreading across his sculpted face. In the dimly lit room, his skin looked darker than it had earlier. Not as dark or as illuminating as Tara’s, but as if it’d been touched by cinnamon and honey.
“Master Mongoya is the most brilliant academic who ever lived. Unfortunately, he doesn’t teach anymore – at least that’s what I thought until today. You’ve been most fortunate, Sir!” Isaiah shrugged his shoulders, feeling fatigue come over him.
“I guess that’s one way to see it.”
“It is said he hasn’t had a single student for a great many years. You’ve been extremely fortunate. As have I, as I might finally get to hear some of his last ones?” He bravely suggested.
“I could ask him if you could join us...” The boy shook his head hard at this, his dark, shoulder long curls falling across his face.
“You must either be joking, or you are quite foolish for someone so clever, Sir.” Isaiah looked at him, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. It was almost playful, and yet he was not sure if he’d just insulted or complimented him.
“Clever you say?”
“Not just anyone could convince the Great Master to teach him. I might not be quite so clever myself, but enough to know that he’d never even consider a simple chef worthy of his lectures.”
“I am to find him some sort of treasure in return...and I probably just got lucky. He still hasn’t even told me what it is...” He remembered. Hopefully, he would reveal more the next day.
“If you believe you were merely lucky, then perhaps you’re not so clever after all.”
“Should I be insulted?” Isaiah asked, mostly jokingly. He knew it was the iron face that had gotten him there, but that would’ve been a very strange thing to say. It was gone now anyhow. He was tired, and it seemed oddly unnecessary to wear it with this young chef.
“That depends. Do you prefer to be clever or just lucky? A clever man wouldn’t allow himself to be offended, but a lucky man might – at least occasionally.” He suggested.
“Which do you think would serve me better here?” The boy’s eyes lightened up as he took a brief moment to think.
“Obviously as I'm not enough of either, I couldn’t possibly tell you.” He concluded, though Isaiah wasn’t convinced it came from a place of humility.
“If I was in fact clever, I would say you were the lucky one of us, seeing I didn’t tell you earlier.” The boy nodded to this, suddenly more serious.
“That would be true, and seeing that you now have a lucky, as well as very grateful man at your service – it was also very clever on your behalf.”
“You owe me nothing...” Isaiah said, his tone putting an end to the foolish ramble.
“But I do, Sir.” He insisted, “In fact, I believe I owe you both my ears.”
“I don’t think I’ll need either of your…” Isaiah stopped himself. “How long have you been here for?” he asked.
“Four years.”
“And seen away from cooking, your task is…rearranging the shelves at night?” The boy moved his light feet around while tilting his head from side to side.
“You could say I am doing some… self-study while I’m here. The master hasn’t really told me that I can’t, but…”
“Your secret remains safe.” Isaiah said, not seeing what sort of damage it could possibly do for some servant boy to know things. In fact – quite on the contrary.
“Thank you once again, Sir – Do you mind me calling you Sir?”
“Isaiah would be better.”
“Isaiah it is then, Devus Donovan at your service.” He smiled broadly, exposing perfectly white teeth and taking his hand to his heart as he made a light bow.
“Devus, I might need your ears after all.”
“I thought you might.” Devus grinned, and Isaiah thought there might be a chance he could actually get something out of these lectures.