ISAIAH WASN’T SURE how many days more he stayed, yet they seemed to go by fast, though they were spent doing very little. He taught himself how to swim and how to float more easily on his back. He tried making fire with rocks again but failed. Soon enough, he noticed himself feeling next to no hunger, or even tiredness during the misty nights. He stared at the stars, thought of bears and sat still. Each passing day the world outside the Parda, seemed more and more like a distant dream. He cared as little for it as he now cared about being here. Now that he’d reached his destination, everything seemed irrelevant and unimportant. That wasn’t to say he felt melancholic or empty inside, just wonderfully uninterested and disconcerted, as his mission finally seemed over with. He’d found his grandfather. Merely a shell of the man he’d once been – a shell afraid of water, and yet, he’d found him. This someone who he’d never truly known in the end.
It was while he was floating on his back one late morning, he heard the whisperers of something from underneath the surface. It was the woman’s voice which he’d heard twice already – commanding him to run and then leading him to where he now was. Now soothing, yet direct and assertive.
“It’s time to end your visit.” This time, he didn’t bounce by the sound, as hearing invisible voices had started to seem normal enough.
“I can’t just leave him here.”
“He came wishing to see everything. Being told a complete story takes time, understanding it could take an eternity.”
“I’ll wait. Somehow, I’ll figure out how to save him.”
“He needs no saving from here, Isaiah, he needs rest. And there is much more waiting to be saved by you elsewhere.” He stopped floating. Somehow, he knew the voice was telling the truth, and it triggered something in him. As if that dull irrelevance had left his body in a split second. Suddenly, it was as if fire had been lit up under his feet, and with an urgency to move he swam towards the shore and walked over to his grandfather.
“I will come back for you.” He said, and he looked up at him – his face unreadable and pale. He hadn’t said a word for several days and Isaiah didn’t expect he would now either. He’d made his choice. Bending down, he gave him a hug which he, to his relief, returned. Before giving himself any time to change his mind, he filled Mongoya’s flasks with water and left.
When Isaiah would later think back of his departure, he would never be able to recall exactly how he’d found his way out of the Parda. It was as if he’d been by the waterfall one moment and on the outside, where Indra was waiting for him, the next. Riding back, he was relieved to see that the Birdú’s prayers for a new river were yet to come to fruition. Riding through the Dunes once again, he didn’t stumble upon any strangers or villages. The only unusual thing he saw was a large, triangular creation in the far distance. But the focus and dedication to his northern march spoke louder than his curiosity, and so, he resisted the impulse to stray. He met a camp of five merchants close to the northern edge of the Dunes. They were friendly enough to share their food and water, and with an urgent need for a new pair of shoes, he tried trading them his knife. Clearly less impressed by it than Wind had been, he finally offered to trade his book instead. His own book– with nothing but a few stories from the fortress, key points from Mongoya’s lectures, his only poem and of course the hero tale of a man that would be known in the south as the Visitor. This burden he’d carried around for years, still had hundreds of blank pages. After some consideration, and perhaps pity for the barefoot traveler, the merchants agreed to the bargain and gave him sandals and bandages to cover up his blistered feet.
After ten days or so, (he soon lost count) Isaiah reached Nagár. This time, getting through the gates was a rather effortless procedure, and he wasn’t even chased when he rode past the masses. They’d grown larger than before, and the guards were too few and too disorganized to keep all of them from entering. The chaos stood in great contrast to the silent roads he’d found himself on, and yet, he felt himself remaining calm. Both the flasks were still full, but he’d permitted himself some drops of it each day to keep his head clear and sharp. It seemed to keep his nerves intact too, and though he dreaded the idea of giving it up, for he was committed to complete the agreement.
Reaching the top of Sujin Hill, he was stunned to discover that Julius wasn’t there, and that the gates stood wide open. Entering, he saw the tulips were bland, and their withering made him want to drop all other matters and come to their rescue. It was the first thing that had truly triggered him on his way back – these precious, dying flowers that he felt certain you could not find anywhere else anymore. But he could not waste the healing water on them. It wasn’t his water and they weren’t his tulips.
Entering the house, he didn’t meet a soul until he walked into the lecture hall. There, Devus was standing on top of the Master’s pendulum, and when he saw Isaiah (standing there tall, tanned, and dusty) he nearly fell down the stairs running.
“Isaiah! Thank the gods you are back!” he said, and Isaiah looked at him incomprehensibly. For a moment he thought he would embrace him, but he took a step back while holding his hands up. “The book…”
“What has happened here? Where is everyone?“
“They… I don’t know. But, the book… I don’t know what I was thinking – it was terribly reckless of me.”
“Oh.” Isaiah responded plainly, almost having forgotten about having it in his possession.
“That’s alright, Devus. We should… probably put it back where you found it? I left it in my pack.” Devus looked at him, as if he’d just suggested they should play a round of cards or go watch a play in the city in the middle of the chaos.
“You’re not angry?” Isaiah shook his head, for though he felt many things due to the more recent event, anger didn’t seem to be among them.
“You really are an extraordinary bastard, aren’t you?” Devus laughed, bending his head before him, as he grabbed his right shoulder. “How much he must have worried about this.” Isaiah thought.
“I don’t think Master Mongoya is coming back, he’s been gone for days. Even Julius left.”
“And why haven’t you?”
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Isaiah looked at him unconvinced.
“And well, I couldn’t stand the idea of leaving all these books behind unprotected.”
“Devus – protector of books. You didn’t seem to have made much of an effort to save the tulips…”
“I am not joking. These are some of the most precious writings in the world. Anyone could just walk in here and…”
“And read?”
“Take this seriously, please! They could burn the place down – they did it before, during the revolution. So many secrets lost in the ashes. As I’ve understood it, part of Mongoya’s work has been to duplicate everything. I can’t let all his work go to waste. We… the people deserve the truth.” His big eyes showed sincere concern.
“We do deserve the truth…” Isaiah agreed, “but I don’t think it’s safe to stay in Nagár. It's a chaos down there.”
“You’re right. I guess… I guess it is time to go home.” Devus put his hands together looking at the books, as if praying for them. Then he turned towards Isaiah. His strange friend who he thought he’d just started to comprehend before he left, but not anymore.
“Come with me.”
“Okay.” Isaiah said and Devus looked at him somewhat baffled by his ease. It was as if he was in a different world altogether.
“Perfect.”
“I’ll need to leave the water here. In case Mongoya returns.”
“I guess… yes – yes, of course you should do that.” Isaiah didn’t trust himself with it. That was not to say, he trusted the Master with anything either, but he would not break their agreement. The delivery seemed to mark an end to their relationship, and besides, Aronin men kept their promises.
After gathering a handful of books Devus thought to be the most important to preserve, the two of them left the city. With one of the gold coins they bought Devus a decent horse from a friendly-looking merchant outside the gates. The man eyed them as if they’d been heavenly-sent angels, and as he thanked them a fifth time, Isaiah gave him another coin.
“That’s hell of a price for a half-decent horse, my friend…” Devus warned him, but Isaiah shook his head as they rode off.
“He needs it more than we do.”
“That’s beside the point. He wouldn’t know how to spend it – he’ll just get scammed or robbed. Look at this place.”
“Perhaps he will, perhaps he won’t.” Isaiah responded and Devus couldn’t help but wonder just in how many ways the Parda had changed him. He was like a well-known lyric with a new melody, or an old melody performed with a new rhyme. It fascinated him, and he couldn’t help but think he’d for once been very lucky. That he might finally have something – someone – to show for upon his return.