Empire, and the scroll purported to be an essay by Jaiet Khai-a man
named the Servant of Memory from the great years when the word Khai had
still meant servant. The grammar was formal and antiquated, the tongue
was nothing spoken now. It was unlikely than anyone but a poet would be
able to make sense of it.
'T'here are two types of impossibility in the andat, the man long since
dust had written. The first of these are those thoughts which cannot be
understood. Time and Mind arc examples of this type; mysteries so
profound that even the wise cannot do more than guess at their deepest
structure. These bindings may someday become possible with greater
understanding of the world and our place within it. For this reason they
are of no interest to me. The second type is made up of those thoughts
by their nature impossible to bind, and no greater knowledge shall ever
permit them. Examples of this are Imprecision and Freedom-FromBondage.
Holding Time or Mind would be like holding a mountain in your hands.
Holding Imprecision would be like holding the backs of your hands in
your palms. One of these images may inspire awe, it is true, but the
other is interesting.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Maati-cha?" the librarian asked again.
`.. Thank You, Baarath-cha, but no. I'm quite well."
The librarian took a step forward all the same. His hands seemed to
twitch towards the books and scrolls that Maati had gathered to look
over. The man's smile was fixed, his eyes glassy. In his worst moments,
Maati had considered pretending to catch one of the ancient scrolls on
fire, if only to see whether Baarath's knees would buckle.
"Because, if there was anything ..."
"Nlaati-cha?" The familiar voice of the young poet rang from the front
of the library. Maati turned to see Cehmai stride into the chamber with
a casual pose of welcome to Baarath. He dropped into a chair across from
Maati's own. The librarian was trapped for a moment between the careful
formality he had with Maati and the easy companionship he appeared to
enjoy with Cehmai. He hesitated for a moment, then, frowning, retreated.
"I'm sorry about him," Cehmai said. "He's an ass sometimes, but he is
good at heart."
"If you say so. And what brings you? I thought there was another
celebration of the Khai's daughter making a match."
"A messenger's come from the Dai-kvo," Cehmai said, lowering his voice
so that Baarath, no doubt just behind the corner and listening, might
not make out the words. "He says it's important."
Maati sat up, his belly twingeing a bit. His messages couldn't have
reached the Dai-kvo's village and returned so soon. This had to be
something that had been sent before word of his injury had gone out,
which meant the Dai-kvo had found something, or wished something done,
or ... He noticed Cehmai's expression and paused.
"Is the seal not right?"
"There is no seal," Cehmai said. "There is no letter. The messenger says
he was instructed to only speak the message to you, in private. It was
too important, he said, to be written."
"That seems unlikely," Maati said.