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721 P.F.
Fall Equinox
Rhetra
The closed doors are massive, functional, unadorned, and hideous. The exterior of the school looks like it was built by an angry child: a haphazard stack of blocks that may topple at any moment.
Trust in the will of the goddess. You are here for a reason. Yes, Mistress.
“After today, you novices are not allowed off school grounds until you complete your first year,” the Lash says.
“Your Honor, what of the gods? Certainly the faithful must be allowed to visit the temples in the city?” I ask.
“There are temples inside the school,” he says.
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Wise Rhetra points the way.
We pass through dull doors and into an unimaginative ante-chamber. There is no artwork on the walls, no scenes from the sacred stories, only infuriating geometric scribblings, made with patterns that seem to change with an irritating subtlety. The Lash is droning on about the history of the school, listing names of long dead Eristics.
Any space can be made sacred. Yes, Mistress. The seeds of justice will grow wherever they are planted, and those who follow the ways of virtue will always prevail. Of course, Mistress.
The interior of the rooms are all ungainly shelves, poorly organized scrolls, and hunched figures scribbling away in silence.
Ergon turns calmly to the Lash. “Your Honor, what is the purpose of having the students copy old manuscripts?”
“The purpose? As if there is just one, novice Ergon? Perhaps you should name it, since you know so much. Go on then, what is the single purpose of making the students copy manuscripts?”
Ergon stands impeccably still. “Your Honor, I ask because I do not know.”
“Excellent. Humility and patience. Novices, take note once again. Emulate this one and you will go far.”
We climb multiple sets of stairs. The bannister is surprisingly lovely, a dark, rich, unfamiliar wood that has been carefully and evenly stained. Oak? No. Some tree I don’t recognize. I reach out softly, and it feels as lustrous as it looks.
“This is the hallway for novices,” the Lash says.
“Ten doors,” Ergon says. “Your Honor, how many total students are there in the Eristic school?”
The Lash ignores the question and waves at two tired brown doors. “Here are your rooms. Elenchus, Peitho, and Achlys are in that one. Ergon and Xeno will share the other one with Eirene.”
“Your Honor, you can not possibly mean to put women and men in the same room?”
He looks at me, his papery skin a vile mix of taut and wrinkled. “Calm yourself, child. This is the Eristic academy of Rhetra, not some barbarian backwater hut where we can not keep our hands off ourselves.”
The warrior knows when to lock her feet into the ground and refuse to be pushed one inch further. Yes, mistress, spear and shield in hand.
“I must insist that I not be put in the same living quarters with men,” I say.
“Insist all you like, but this is your room.”
One of the doors opens. A woman dressed in the same black hooded robe steps out into the hallway. A vicious purple splotch mars her otherwise pretty face. Her hair lies flat and straight against her head, cut short in a brutal line just above her shoulders.
“These are the new fall equinox crop of novices, Your Honor?” She asks.
The two idiot boys run their eyes over her, ogling her bust, then flinch at her birthmark.
“Yes,” the Lash says as he turns and walks away. “Get them fed and ready for tomorrow.”
“My name is Eirene. Welcome to the Eristic school.”
Achlys touches a piece of metal on the outside of the door. “There’s something you don’t see much,” she says. “This thing locks from the outside.”
“Nothing says prison like locks on the outside of doors,” Elenchus says.
Ergon fixes his eyes on the new girl. “Why are you not working with the rest of the students?”
“My work today is showing the Fall Equinox novices the school,” Eirene says.
“Is it really that bad here?” Xeno asks. His grin is annoying.
“As the Lash is fond of saying, things can always be worse,” Eirene says.
“And things are always worse than they appear,” Elenchus says.
Achlys wedges past Elenchus, aggressively bumping him out of her way. “Farmboy here likes to spout shit he thinks passes for eloquent wisdom,” she says, ducking around Eirene and into the room. “Turns out he’s mostly passing gas.”
Elenchus makes a fart noise. Xeno giggles. Are these people all children?
“Farmboy?” Eirene asks.
“Hey Princess, looks like everyone gets their own bedroom with a door that locks from the inside and everything. You’ll only have to share a common room with me and Farmboy,” Achlys shouts.
Princess? I don’t need these people.
I go to the other room. You will find your people. Remember who you are, Sara of Youel. You will find those who fight the same battles you fight. I nod and open one of the bedroom doors off the main room. Inside is a mattress resting on a too-thick wooden frame and beige sheets. I close the door and lay down. I can feel the harshness of the bedframe through the mattress.
Eirene’s voice comes through the door. “Peitho? Are you alright? I’m going to take everyone down to lunch. It’s a short window and if we don’t eat soon, we don’t get any more food until dinner. You should come.”
The warrior adapts herself to each new challenge. Yes, mistress.
“Ok.” I get up and open the door. Eirene is standing there with her hands clasped.
“I remember my first day here. We were brought in on the Fall Equinox, same as your group. I expected to turn 20, fail the test and go home. That’s what everyone told you would happen. That’s what you’re told your whole life, all through school. So when the Eristics told me I passed, I was terrified. What did that mean? What was I now that I had been pulled away from everything and everyone I had know? Who was I now with this new name? The Lash came off as a snob. The other students all seemed cruel. But my group, the six of us, the six novices, we bonded. We became friends and helped each other. You’ve got a good group too. You can help each other survive this place.”
“I miss my family. My temple. I miss my sisters and Mistress Kharti,” I say. Tears are welling up.
Eirene gives me a hug. With one ragged breath, the crying takes over and Eirene lets me sob peacefully. Eventually, the spasms stop. The soldier of Rhetra lives with her eyes open, ready for opportunity. Yes, Mistress.
I step back and wipe my eyes. “That short girl is mean.”
“She’s scared and she misses home, same as you.”
“Those two boys are like children.”
“The one with the little nose is cute, though, especially when he laughs. Elenchus? Is that his name?”
“Yeah. I guess he’s cute.”
“He likes you, you know that?”
“What? Elenchus? No. Did he say something about me?”
“No. I just know these things.”
I bite my lip.
“Do you want a moment so they can’t tell you were crying?”
We stand for a while in silence. “Am I still blotchy?”
“Tiny bit,” she says. “Wait here and I’ll get you some water.”
I lay down. I even miss the bunk beds at the temple. The mattresses were nice and you always had someone to talk to at night.
Eirene comes back in. I sit up and drink.
“You look better now,” she says. “Ready?”
I nod.
We walk back to the other room. The door is open. The two boys are sitting at a table playing a game. Ergon is hovering over them, his eyes intent on the board, asking questions about the rules.
Achlys is the only one who notices us come in. Her eyes roam over my face and then to Eirene. Save who you can, but there will always be those who you can not help. Achlys looks back down at the game.
“And what is that one?” Ergon asks.
“That’s the Fancy,” Xeno says.
Achlys whispers. “Don’t let the Lash hear you call it that.”
They laugh together. Keep all paths open and clear. Let the spear of Rhetra find its mark. Patience. Yes, mistress.
Achlys tromps toward the door, her body language transformed into an exact match for the Lash. She claps. “Excellent. Now that you’ve all arrived, let us head to lunch, shall we?”
Xeno jumps from his seat. “That’s incredible. Were you an actress?”
Achlys frowns, still flawlessly imitating the Lash. “You’re all Eristic novices now, and that’s all that matters.”
Eirene takes the lead, guiding us down the hall and the stairs to a room that is far too big. Insufficient numbers of students are hunched around awkward oaken tables. All these same faces were at the performance this morning. We join a line of bored students waiting for food.
The line arrives at a table. There is an impossible variety of foods. It’s as if a painter chose them for their visual variety simply to confuse the viewer’s eye. A woman on the other side of the table, dressed in white, is waiting for me. I hold out my hands. She drops a plate in them.
“It‘s all delicious,” Eirene says, brushing me lightly on the arm with her fingers as she gets a plate. “Just point to what you want.”
More dull eyed women in white stand behind endless platters, arhythmically clicking tongs. I gesture at the most recognizable foods. Items are deposited onto my plate.
Eirene leads us to one of the many empty tables. As soon as we sit, Xeno picks up some long pale green vegetable with his fingers. “Should I taste it first, or know the name first?”
“Eat it,” Eirene says. “Don’t let the name flavor your experience.”
Xeno laughs. “Good one.”
We all watch his face change from expectant, to surprised, and finally to delighted. “Wow. What do the skeptics from your town say, Peitho? I will reserve judgment.”
I force a laugh.
“What you just ate is called celery,” Eirene says. “Does that change your opinion of it?”
“No,” Xeno says.
“There used to be these little orange things. Sweet peppers, I think they’re called. But I haven’t seen them this year,” Eirene says.
Ergon stops eating. “You are a second year?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you in the hall for novices?”
Eirene bites into some crispy circular bread, waiting to speak until she’s done chewing. “I signed up to live in the novice’s hall, to be a guide. The first year is very difficult.”
“How many novices bail out of this shithole?” Achlys asks.
That girl just wants trouble.
“You mean run away?” Eirene asks.
“Why would anyone run from the chance of a lifetime?” I ask.
Elenchus picks through his food, finally sniffing a piece of toast but not biting it. “You mean the chance to be a wooden piece on a Fancy game board?”
“Weren’t we chosen to serve Rhetra?” Xeno asks while plowing through his food.
“I prefer the phrase ‘press ganged’ instead of ‘chosen’,” Elenchus says.
Xeno shrugs. “How can you complain when the food is this good?”
“Pretty sure Farmboy would fucking complain if he was perched on the Emperor’s throne,” Achlys says.
Elenchus snickers. “That’s literally the most reasonable place in the world to complain from. Do you know the one thing all the friends, family, and enemies of the Emperor have in common? They all want the Emperor dead… and the Emperor knows it.”
“See?” Achlys says.
“You should see the food the Dean gets,” Eirene says. “This stuff is table scraps by comparison.”
“As usual, the weak are left to eat crumbs from the floor of the powerful,” Elenchus says.
Xeno laughs. “These are crumbs?”
“I’m sure the powerful have your best interests in mind, Farmboy,” Achlys says.
“That’s what they tell themselves so they can sleep at night,” Elenchus says.
The conversation drifts back to the board game.
Eirene stands up. “Looks like you’re all done eating. Time for me to show you the rest of the place. You can leave your stuff on the table, the workers will get it.”
“The women in white aren’t servants?” I ask.
“No,” Eirene says. “Those women are employees of the school.”
“So they’re servants to coin,” Elenchus says.
Achlys gives him a nudge with her elbow. “Can that cynicism and sell it, Farmboy. Earn some of your own coin.”
We leave the cafeteria and Eirene guides us through the halls and rooms of the school, each more dully designed than the last.
“Today, students are spending the day copying texts or in private meetings with an instructor,” Eirene says.
“Where are the temples? The Lash said there were some inside of the school?”
“In the basement. I’ll show you,” Eirene says.
She ushers us through a poorly lit side hallway that leads to a set of cramped stairs. As we descend, the air gains the smells of paper and sweat. Eirene slips a piece of bread out of a fold in her robe and pops it in her mouth. A small glint of white light appears above her shoulder.
“They don’t allow open flames down here,” she explains.
“So you’re not showing off?” Achlys asks.
“I’m not showing off,” Eirene says with a small grin.
At the bottom of the stairs is a beat up wooden desk with two uncomfortable looking stools behind it. Two glum faced and hood shrouded students, each with a small spark of light above their shoulders, acknowledge Eirene with a head tilt and then glare at us.
“Just showing the new Fall Equinox novices to the temples,” she says.
One of the two makes a clucking sound. “Not copying anything?”
“Nothing,” she says.
“On a research day, no less. Going to listen to children’s parables?” One asks, tugging the hood forward so that their entire face is obscured.
“Could be,” Eirene says.
“Or we could sit behind a desk, gloat over the peck of authority we’ve been given, and harass the newest members of the school,” Elenchus says.
“Think that’s better than copying?” Xeno asks.
The two behind the desk laugh a little.
“Yeah, okay,” one of them says. “Just doing our duty.”
They ask what we’re carrying, our names, what year we all are even though Eirene already told them we’re the new students, if we’ve eaten today, if we’ve slept recently, and several other pointless questions. We are all searched. Do we have to do this every time we come down here? Aren’t we students here? The function of the ritual is not in what it does, but in the act of performance itself. Yes, mistress.
Eirene writes our names down on a piece of paper that is filled with names and dates. They use paper for that?
“Hope the bedtime stories aren’t too scary,” one says.
We walk over dirty stone floors, passing by dozens of battered doors. Each room is the same: a light hovering over a black robed figure who is hunched over a desk covered with a sloppy array of scrolls, papers, parchment, and dried clay tablets.
“Is this the entirety of the basement? Texts?” Ergon asks.
Eirene offers another smile. “Almost.”
“Where is all the paper coming from?” Ergon asks.
“There is a whole block in the inner city that the school owns and is dedicated to paper making,” Eirene says.
“If they’ve got that much money, they should dedicate a block to tailors too,” Elenchus says.
“Why, you want a paper robe?” Xeno asks.
Everyone laughs. Someone swoops down the hallway and scolds us. Our laughter turns into stifled snickers and we continue onward through cold hallways.
Eirene points to a row of thin and bruised looking doors. “Here are the temples. Meet you at the stairs later?”
Everyone except Elenchus turns to walk away.
“You’re going to leave her in the dark?” He asks.
Eirene stops and turns, her face red. “Sorry, I forgot you can’t… sorry.” She fumbles through her robes and draws out a pastry. “Hold on. This is a little tricky but I think I can do it.”
She plucks an almond out of the pastry, palms it, then eats the rest. In a voice somewhere between a chant and a reccistation, Eirene sings to the nut. The almond begins to glow, somewhat dimmer than the light floating above her shoulder.
Eirene blinks clumsily as she hands me the almond. “Not besht effort, not worsht.”
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“Just shtupid moment. For a moment,” she says slowly. “See you.”
They walk away, Ergon plying Eirene with questions about food and the Art.
Above each door is a small wooden board that looks like it was slapped up by four different drunk craftsmen. I step to the nearest one and see that it has a spear drawn on it. So, Rhetra? As I move to look at another door, the almond in my hand flashes brightly then goes completely dark.
It’s odd how darkness makes cold air feel colder. I squeeze my hand around the nut, willing it to light. Nothing happens. I consider singing to it, but don’t. I lean against a wall and feel my way to the next door. Which temple is this? I knock.
No one answers.
The battle always takes an unexpected turn, this is the nature of the dance. Yes, mistress.
Searching with my fingers, I slide my palm along the wall. Odd how the dark stretches out space, as if distance grows in the absence of light. Here’s another door. Completely dark. I knock anyway.
Voices are coming. Eirene? Ergon? Elenchus? Achlys? No. None of those. Someone else. I straighten my spine, smile brightly, and move off the wall
Lights appear around a corner. Three of them. My eyes, used to the dark, instinctually close and I turn my head away.
“...said they were looking for shortcuts. Always with these first and second years. Will it make me faster, stronger, smarter? If not, they don’t care.”
“Is there someone standing by your door, Kallista?”
I squint toward the light. Three older women stand at the end of the hallway. “I was looking for the temple of Rhetra and my light went out.”
One woman steps forward, leaning on a cane. She wears the hooded black cloak of the school, with a small eagle shaped pin affixed to the front. “If the light is yours, why not make another, novice?”
My cheeks get hot. The warrior is humble. Humble and honest. Yes, mistress. “This is my first day at the school. I asked my guide to lead me to the temple of Rhetra and she left me here with this almond. It was lit a moment ago and then it went out.”
She pulls back her hood. Her hair is braided into one long rope that falls down one shoulder. She touches the almond in my hand and it leaps with light. “On your first day, you journey alone in the dark to find the golden goddess?” She says with a gentle smile.
I nod.
“Come in,” she says, opening the door. “Welcome to the Eristic temple of Rhetra.”
The interior is simple and uplifting: four unpadded benches, a lectern, and three beautifully hyper realistic murals that completely envelope the space.
The left wall depicts fierce Rhetra and her brother hunting devious Eryx. They are inside a mud hut, poised in mid battle. Leontius has just missed with his bow, his arrow stuck and quivering in a rustic wooden table. Rhetra’s arm is pulled back majestically to full extension, the sacred spear Dianoia ready to leap from her hand and sever the paw of her fox faced cousin.
The mural on the right depicts the sacred day of founding. The scene is set at the confluence of the two mighty rivers, Laomai and Moirai. Rhetra is posed, muscles taut and beautiful, in the foreground of the piece, having just thrown Dianoia. The spear itself is sailing in the air, toward the spot where her people will build the blessed city in her name. Sitting next to Rhetra, leaning against an oak stump, is the incomparable shield Noesis. I weep to see the eagle painted on it. The blessed companion, Episteme, surveys the scene from a perch in the branches of a tree, the holy necklace Pistosis hung around her neck. Behind the goddess, a mass of huddling humans about half her size peer up at her with desperation, hunger, and hope.
The center mural depicts Rhetra and her unhinged brother wrestling on the cobbled streets of the ancient city of Aoristos. Rhetra is squeezing her brother around the chest with both arms, her bare arms bulging with the effort. Her brother is missing both eyes, foaming at the mouth, and hefting an uprooted tree in one hand. It’s clear that in an eyeblink, the two of them will be on the ground with Rhetra on top.
The mistress leads me to a small side door and ushers me inside a smaller room which is obviously her immaculately kept private office. On the shelves there are hundreds of scrolls, and small votive figurines of all the major gods. On the desk are a dozen of small bronze statues Rhetra, each a different style.
“Have a seat,” the mistress says while she hangs her cane on a hook. “Tell me where you are from, novice. I want to hear your words, your story.”
I sit. The chair has a gentle feel to it. “Youel. I was only a year from being anointed as a pure maiden of Rhetra.”
She nods, pulling forward one of the small bronze statues. It is identical to the huge stone statue at the center of Youel. “Rhetra the pure. Of course. I know that face of the goddess quite well.”
I take a quick breath. “Do you know Mistress Kharti? She has been my mentor from birth.”
“Kharti? Yes, of course. It has been many decades, but I remember her. She was still a child when I met her,” she looks around her desk and finds a decanter and two glasses. She fills them both and hands one to me. “Younger than you are now.”
The water is cold enough that it hurts my teeth a little, like drinking from a mountain stream.
“I was her Mistress long ago and she called me mother so that makes you my granddaughter, doesn’t it?”
I take another drink, my mind spinning too fast to come up with any words.
“And what is your name, granddaughter?”
My feet grow cold and my hand clenches hard around my cup. What name does she want to hear? My old family name? My temple name, from the temple I am no longer a part of? My Eristic name?
She runs her fingers along her braid and smiles. “Does Kharti still wear her hair in braids?”
“Yes,” I say. “I used to help her with her hair every morning.” Tears are on the way again.
“It is safe here, granddaughter,” she says. “Let go.”
I sob and blubber in my chair. At some point, I feel firm hands rubbing my shoulders. The feelings pour out of me and when they are gone, the mistress is sitting across from me sipping her water. A hand towel sits on the desk before me.
“Thank you,” I say and wipe my face.
The goddess strengthens you, and brings you back into the fold. This is not a loss of your old family, this is an expansion of the family.
“Meetings are every day after dinner. We will see you tomorrow, novice Peitho.”
Of course she already knows my name.
“Yes Mistress Kallista,” I stand and say with a bow.
She smiles, clearly impressed that I overheard her name. I breathe in the beautifully simple and functional arrangement of her office one more time. The desk is worn and loved, with rounded bronze corners attached delicately to the wood.
“Welcome to your new home, granddaughter.”
“Thank you, grandmother.” I bow and walk out of the office and the temple.
Out in the hallway, I collide with Eirene, who has her hand up, ready to knock. The rest of the group is strewn out behind her.
“Oh, there you are,” she says.
“Looks like the goddess blessed your nut,” Achlys says. “Brighter than ever before.”
I realize I’m smiling. Those who do not practice the rituals hate them and are jealous of them at the same time. They know it brings serenity and they know they have no serenity. “Yes,” I say, my smile widening. “She did.”
Eirene takes my hand and we walk back through the hallways.
“Think if I go in there, Elenchus, would the goddess bless my nuts?” Xeno asks.
“Yeah, then you’d never have to piss in the dark again,” Elenchus says.
Idiots.
I tell Eirene about mistress Kallista. Eirene is an amazing listener, smiling and nodding in all the right places, asking good questions, and never injecting her own stories or tangents.
We arrive back at the front desk of the basement. We’re searched again. We get asked the same questions again and it already feels routine. The group falls silent as we travel up the stairs. Eirene’s light blinks out.
She takes the glowing almond from my hand. “This isn’t my rubric anymore.”
“It flickered out right after you left.”
“Oh no. I’m sorry,” she says, hanging her head. “I can do it in class most of the time and it sticks but the real world is so different, of course.”
I reach out and squeeze her arm. “No. If it hadn’t faded, I wouldn’t have waited. I wouldn’t have met mistress Kallista.”
We hug.
“You would have met her later, I’m sure. I’m so sorry you were stuck in the dark.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But our meeting wouldn’t have been so perfect. It really was perfect. She is perfect.”
Eirene smiles. “That’s good. It’s not easy to make connections in this place. And it’s even harder to keep them.”
“You two done crying on each other?” Xeno asks from the top of the stairs.
“Dorks,” I mutter.
Eirene takes the lead again, steering us through unfamiliar dusty hallways to a set of closed double doors. “The battle room.”
There are no handles or locks. A tight seam runs between the ancient looking doors, interrupted only by a silver square in the center. Ergon walks up and reaches out a hand.
Eirene seizes his wrist sharply. “Stop.”
He steps away.
“It wouldn’t hurt you,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what would happen but we’re not allowed in. Not unless we make it to 3rd year.”
“Make it? Does that mean we can quit?” Xeno asks.
Eirene frowns. “It’s possible.”
“Doesn’t look like you’d recommend it,” Elenchus says.
She shakes her head. “Unless a student is found to have… inadequate capacity, there is no consequence free way for a student to leave the school.”
“That’s a nice way of saying what? They’ll break your arms and bury the people you love in a mudslide?” Achlys asks.
Eirene freezes and lowers her voice to a whisper. “We don’t speak of lost students.”
Achlys throws her hands up defensively. “You know I was joking, right?”
Some of Eirene’s color returns, but she looks shaken. “I know you’re new. I should have warned you. It’s just so hard at first, it’s so hard to even know what to tell you.”
Ergon is still looking at the dull closed door. “Why wait until third year to let us into the battle room?”
“It’s dangerous. The battle classes, I mean. They used to throw everyone into battle room sessions right from the beginning,” Eirene says.
“And it didn’t work?” Ergon asks.
“Not sure. People say lots of students went crazy and a few died.”
“Body count versus graduation count,” Elenchus says.
Eirene leads us back to our rooms.
“How many are in each class, Eirene?” I ask.
“Mine had seven. Yours has five. Those are pretty typical from what I’ve seen,” she says.
“So how many students are in the school at a time?”
“Around 500.”
Ergon jumps in. “If there are 5 sections of new students per year and 5 people per section, that would be 125 students per year, so with 4 years of students, that’s 500.”
Eirene stops walking. Everyone else stops. We’re standing in the middle of an empty stairway.
“Eristics study for five years,” Eirene says.
“So the average is lower? 4 students per section?” Ergon asks.
“No, five is about right.”
“Then about one out of every five students fails to graduate.”
“Can I volunteer?” Elenchus asks.
Eirene grabs him by the shoulder. “I’ve told you already, do not joke about this.”
Elenchus glances at her hand and laughs slowly. “I’ve already been kidnapped from my family, and put in this prison, what could be worse?”
“It’s not kidnapping, it’s the bargain everyone in Koinon agrees to,” she says.
“I don’t remember signing a contract,” Elenchus says.
She lets go of him and lowers her voice. “Students who flee the academy or are deemed to not be putting forth their best efforts can be put to death, along with their parents and siblings.”
“Once again demonstrating the equivalence of power and violence,” Elenchus says.
Eirene shakes her head, and then speaks to all of us as a group. “I should have told you about this first, I’m sorry. It’s what I would have wanted when I arrived here, instead of being kept in the dark.”
“You’re doing your best, Eirene,” I say.“There is so much good we can do with the power we gain here.”
Elenchus looks like he is going to say something stupid but Ergon interrupts. “How many of the seven in your class made it through the first year, Eirene?”
“Two,” she says.
“Remember that half the students in the academy at any time are Returns,” she says.
“What’s a Return?” Ergon asks.
“Returns are old students who have already graduated. All graduated students are required to come back to the school every five years and share what they have learned out in the world.”
“The prisoners return voluntarily,” Elenchus says. “That’s how you can tell the system has really worked.”
He’s going to swim in that cynical pool all his life, imagining a world of justice and fairness while ignoring the actual world of difficulties and opportunities.
“That would mean on average three in five students fail to graduate,” Ergon says.
“Well congratulations in advance to whichever two of us survive,” Achlys says.
“As if survival is the highest of achievements,” Elenchus says.
Eirene resumes walking up the stairs. The Dean is standing at the top. He makes eye contact with each of us. Goosebumps run up my arms. This is the most powerful person in the building, maybe in the whole of the city of the five gates. Align yourself not just with power, but power that is just.
His hood is down, revealing his thick white hair and beard. His smile, though clearly meant to be warm, makes my hands begin to shake.
“Tonight, after dinner, each of you will come to my office one at a time for an interview,“ the Dean says.
“I’ll show them where your office is, Your Honor,” Eirene says.
He bows ever so slightly to her. “Thank you, Eirene.”
She bows deeply.
When he’s gone, Elenchus laughs. “He never bows to us, the lowly novices, but he bows to the second years?”
Achlys opens the door to one of our rooms. “Come to my office one at a time,” she says in a perfect imitation of the Dean.
We all go inside. Everyone finds a place to sit except Achlys, who stands by one of the windows, looking out.
“Maybe each year you survive earns you a 5 degree deeper bow from the Dean?” Xeno asks.
“That would mean if the Dean bowed to a student of 36 years he would be folded one hundred and eighty degrees,” Ergon says.
Xeno giggles. “How long would a student have to study in order to get a bow from the Dean that would put his head up his own ass?”
Everyone laughs, and I find myself joining in. These people are so disrespectful. Even if the authorities here are unbelievers, they are still the authorities.
“When do we learn the Art?” Ergon asks.
Eirene gives a sigh. “First year is mostly reading and writing. History, philosophy, mathematics, military strategy, art, and language study.”
Achlys taps the window then turns. “I can’t read or write.”
Why is she here then? If she was too busy being a filthy street urchin to go to school doesn’t that mean she could refuse to come to Rhetra?
“You’ll be assigned a tutor. When the Dean talks to you tonight he’ll explain how that works,” Eirene says.
“Isn’t the goal to make us Eristics? Why not teach the basics of the Art?” Ergon asks.
Eirene upturns her hands. “I know. It’s confusing. They call it building your base. When Eristics dip into the Source, they draw on their knowledge. The more knowledge you have, the more you can do with your powers.”
“If knowledge is the Eristic base, then why do you eat bread to make the light appear?” Ergon asks.
Eirene flushes slightly. “I’m cheating. It’s a bit of a crutch to use food, it’s the way the Syllogistics do it.”
“So not all schools build their base in the same way?” He asks.
The conversation keeps going, but I feel myself drifting off. The warrior is always focused, ready to face each new challenge as it comes. Yes, mistress. I should take a nap.
Ergon stands up, excusing himself to use the bathroom. The moment the door closes behind him, Achlys bounces to the center of the room and puts on a toothy grin.
“Who wants to go out tonight?” She asks.
“Don’t do that,” Eirene says.
Xeno lights up, ignoring Eirene. “To see the Mote?”
“The what now?” Achlys asks, her smile vanishing.
“The old guy I was listening to,” he says.
“Ah, the guy who wasn’t a guy.”
Xeno startles. “What?”
“Yeah. That wasn’t a male. It was a pretty good conceal but that was a woman,” she says.
“Alright. But you’re sneaking out to see her, right?” Xeno says.
She grins. “I could be convinced to make a cross dressing philosopher part of the tour.”
Eirene stands up. “This is a terrible idea. If you get caught, the penalty will be massive.”
“Not getting caught is my specialty,” Achlys says.
She waited until Ergon was gone. She knew he would report them. Does she know I won’t? Will I?
Ergon comes back in. The conversation dies.
“Did you discuss more about the variation between how each of the schools build their base? I was thinking Eirene could explain each of the school’s methods one by one. For instance, how do the healers build their base?”
“The menders aren’t a school,” Eirene says.
This is about to get really boring. I stand up. When Eirene looks at me questioningly, I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to lay down before we eat.”
“Sleep tight, Princess,” Achlys says, her voice turned cutesy and cruel.
The warrior knows some battles are not worth fighting. Yes, Mistress.
I walk away and find silence through three doors and in my bed. I close my eyes and see images of the temple at Youel. Images of my sisters. Images of Mistress Kharti. We are singing, arranging offerings of bread and meat made by pilgrims. The Mistress smiles at me, and the song is joyful, but inexplicably I am sad…
“Time for dinner,” a voice calls through the door.
Eirene. Right. I’m in Rhetra.
There was a dream. Something about the temple. A fire maybe? No, but some kind of disaster. The warrior does not wallow in the past, for the fight is now, in this moment. Yes, mistress. The dream was homesickness, nothing special.
I walk out into the hallway. Eirene is waiting at the landing. She smiles. “You looked like you needed a rest, so we waited as long as we could to get you.”
Achlys is leading a conversation lower down the stairs. Must she always insist on being in charge? With absurd ideas like sneaking out on our first day in Rhetra, she’s liable to get us all kicked out.
In the cafeteria, I point at foods and the women in white serve it up. The room is the same as it was during lunch time, sparsely populated and terribly ugly. When I sit down, I realize I have no idea what is on my plate.
“I’d expect a princess to be a picky eater,” Achlys says.
I pick something purple off my plate and bite into it. Crunchy and bitter. After some chewing, I decide it is interesting. Maybe good. I don’t know. My head is still nap fogged. “You don’t know me.”
Achlys snorts. “Ouch.”
I eat more of the purple things. What had she said about her parents to that priest? Why was she late to that initial meeting?
Conversation starts up around card games and board games. The Dean, with his hands clasped eagerly in front of him and wearing a small smile, walks up to our table.
“Elenchus, will you join me first in my office?”
“Do I have a choice?” Elenchus asks
The Dean opens his hands in a wide arc. “You are ultimately free to do whatever you want, although there are consequences to every action.”
Elenchus stands up. “That’s not freedom. That’s the oppressor justifying their power.”
The Dean nods and knits his hands back together. “What is freedom?”
The two of them, still arguing, leave the room.
Achlys nudges Xeno. “Maybe you could get your philosophy fix talking to the Dean?” She lowers her voice and whispers something else to him.
Eirene watches the two of them, then restarts the conversation by asking everyone what their favorite thing they’ve eaten in the cafeteria is. We finish eating and walk back up to the room.
Ergon shifts his bulk on the couch. “Why did the Dean ask Elenchus what freedom is?”
Xeno leans forward. “It‘s a word game.”
“Ever play games just to see what happens?” Achlys asks.
“I don’t understand,” Ergon says.
Xeno shrugs and the room falls silent for a moment.
“Should we teach Peitho how to play cards?” Eirene asks.
I let them teach me and we’re halfway through a fourth hand when Elenchus walks back through the door. He points at me. “Your turn.”
I stand up, and Eirene does too. “I’ll show you the way.”
“So, Farmboy,” Achlys says, changing her voice to sound like the Dean, “What is freedom?”
Xeno, who was halfway through drinking a cup of water, sprays liquid out his nose. Elenchus falls to his knees with laughter. Xeno follows suit, and Achlys stays still, her face implacable.
Eirene giggles softly and opens the door, leading me out into the hallway. “Those three get along well.”
“It won’t get them anywhere though, will it?”
She leads me downstairs. “Isn’t enjoying one another’s company a reward in itself?”
“Not when there is no final purpose,” I say. “Not when it is just a distraction to pass the time.”
We enter a hallway I haven’t been in yet. The walls are plain and the ceilings too high, leaving the eyes left wondering everywhere and nowhere.
“Maybe some of us are better at providing that final purpose and others are better at filling the small moments.”
We stop at an unremarkable solid oak with a slightly green brass handle. Eirene knocks softly.
The Dean’s voice comes floating from the other side. “Come in, Peitho.”
Eirene opens the door for me and I walk in. There is art everywhere. Paintings, sketches and tapestries cover every inch of wall. Figurines are perched on a desk, in potted plants, and hang from the ceiling. One bookshelf is full of nothing but ornamental weapons, shaped candles, and trinkets. The Dean sits behind the desk which is covered in papers, ink, styluses, and small sculptures.
He has that smile on his face.
“Your Honor.”
“And what is your assessment of my office? What does this room say about me?”
“You do seem to love art.”
“And what does that say about me,” he looks at a painting of a grubby looking man holding a shovel and standing by a pile of rubble, “if I love art?”
He wants a particular answer, doesn’t he? Something to judge me by. His face is relaxed, almost slack, yet still smiling. Maybe that’s just the way his face looks when he’s doing nothing. Is he bored? Am I boring? Is the whole process boring? How long has he been Dean? How many students have sat in this chair, across from him, on their first day? “I don’t know if it says anything, other than you love art.”
His smile stretches, then fades slowly. “A careful answer.”.
“Is everyone here an atheist?”
His face returns to the possibility of a smile. “What brings you to that idea?”
“The Lash. He made it sound like no one here...” What am I supposed to say? What does he want me to say? “Like no Eristic could remain a person of faith for very long. I think because of the teaching here, maybe?”
“And why do you think he said that?”
“Because he’s an atheist.”
He picks up a tiny wooden Rhetra from his desk and places it in my palm. “If donkeys had a god, what do you think it would look like?”
“A donkey.”
“And cats? If they had a god?”
“A cat, Your Honor. What does this have to do with everyone here being an atheist or not?”
He takes the figurine back. “If atheists had a god, what do you think it would look like?”
Is that a joke? Should I laugh at that? “What?”
“What do atheists value most?”
“Nothing. Anything. They have no foundational faith. No direction. No purpose. They can’t have any values at all.”
He stands up and plucks two small statues off a shelf. He considers them both, then sets one in front of me. “What did this artist believe in?”
It’s a wolf. I pick it up. The shoulder blades and spine push visibly against the skin, ready to burst out. The belly is swollen with pregnancy. The eyes are open wide, bulging wildly away from the face. I set it back down. “It looks like the she-wolf from the story of the Source. But how would I know anything about what the artist believed?”
He lifts up the statuette and examines the face carefully. “What do you see in the eyes?”
“Intensity. Desperation, maybe?”
“Yes. Now look at the whole figure again. What does the artist believe in?”
He wants me to say something again. Something in particular. The warrior is calm under pressure, so she can see the whole of the battlefield, not just the blade in front of her. “Survival. The artist believes in survival.”
“Why do you say that?”
The space behind my eyes aches. “Because the wolf could have just laid down and died, but she didn’t? She endured. She survived.”
“And what do you believe in, novice?”
“The Golden Goddess, Your Honor, and the wisdom she brings to Koinon.”
“Tell novice Ergon he is next.”
“Your Honor.”
I shut the door behind me. Was that a test? Did I pass the test? Which part was the test? I’m sweating. Does it matter that Ergon is after me? Does it matter that Elenchus was before me? What an infuriating and awful man he is. I slow my pace, taking the steps one at a time.
When I arrive at the rooms, I realize I’m counting my steps. I hear laughter from behind the door. I press my ear to the wood.
“That’s their thing, though, isn’t it? Their fucking dress code. As if they’re better than everyone.” It’s Achlys. “They think that a certain length of robe or cut of boot makes the difference about how much their god loves them.”
The monotheists who took her parents. That seems like something that has got her stuck. Something, as mistress Kharti would say, she has let define her.
“But how did they come to think there is a single god?”
Ergon, always asking the reasonable questions.
I open the door. “Ergon, the Dean says he would like to see you next.”
Ergon stands up from the couch, sets his cards down, and walks to the door. Eirene rises but I wave for her to sit. “I’ll show him the way.”
“The Princess and the machine,” Achlys says.
Xeno snickers.
“Do you ever turn that razor sharp wit on yourself?” Elenchus asks.
“The despot can’t handle the sharp end of the blade,” I say without turning and stride out the door.
“Despot! That’s it! That’s your name, Achlys.”
The burst of laughter from the room brings a smile to my face. I stride down the stairs.
“Do you think Achlys craves power that much?”
I startle, having forgotten Ergon was following me.
“I think she’s rude and selfish.”
“So why not give her one of those adjectives as a nickname?”
“She crowned me a princess, so I dubbed her a despot.”
He doesn’t laugh. “What did the Dean speak to you about?”
“Art? I don’t know. Faith, maybe? All his questions had some sort of secret meaning, like there was a test behind them. He scares me. He scared me the first time I met him. It’s that smile that always seems to be on his face. What did he say to you when we first met?”
“He asked me if reason alone could give meaning to life.”
“Can it?”
“I’ve been turning the question over and over in my head since he asked me.”
“And?”
“The fact that I don’t know the answer isn’t surprising. It’s an incredibly complex question. At least for me it is. The surprising bit is that he asked me that particular question, because it’s one I’d given a lot of thought to already.”
“You know he did that to all of us, right? He read our minds.”
We’re at the Dean’s door. I knock.
“Come on in, Ergon.”
I walk back up to the rooms, shaking my head at the Dean’s question for Ergon. It’s simple. Of course you can’t find meaning from reason alone. All for the glory of Rhetra. Yes, mistress.
Hearing the group still in Eirene’s room, chattering away, I slip past, into my own little bedroom. I don’t feel that tired, but when I lay down, my head aches with the effort of the day and swims with thoughts of tomorrow.
How many students will be at the temple tomorrow? How many offer devotion to any of the gods? My thoughts drift and melt, then I think of the name I gave to Achlys, and I laugh myself back to wakefulness.
Achlys the despot is right. Ergon would turn her in for sneaking out. Is she serious about sneaking out? She’s not serious about anything. Everything she says is to build up an image for herself. Despot is the perfect nickname for her. I smile and let my thoughts splinter again and I’m dreaming I’m seated alone at a table full of foods I’ve never seen and don’t know the name of but somehow I know exactly how they all will taste.
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