The Books of Knowledge

LEGEND OF ALM

  THE BOOKS

  OF KNOWLEDGE

  GRAHAM M. IRWIN

  Before beginning, all was as a single point in the ether.

  There was no difference.

  Then there came a division, and the all became parts, and the parts repelled their new opposites, until the light clung together from the dark, substance bore distinction to nothingness, and separations became fixed.

  So it is today that the universe is in the middle of its journey, far from home, yet headed toward reconciliation.

  -Nee, The Legend, Chapter VIII

  Chapter 1

  392 AF

  Slate Ahn returned to his stone hut tired after a long three days spent hunting in the Blue Forest. He had little to show for the hunt, three scrawny gnars, but at least it was something to fill his stomach.

  The hut was cold and dark, and so he started a small fire in the fireplace, then lit a candle from it. A family of squee shrieked and ran when Slate took his hunting gear into the back of the hut. Slate didn’t like squee, but almost wished they had stayed, if only for the company. He had been alone for some time, since his brother and father left to find work in the south, and though he occasionally got to talk with the other villagers, their numbers were dwindling, too. It wouldn’t be long until Alleste was empty. Everyone was leaving for the new way of life in the south, for the technological wonders and ease it promised. But the Ahns were hardy folk, determined to stay in the remote village of Alleste no matter what. Or so Slate’s father had told him, which seemed hypocritical when he left.

  Slate sat and warmed himself by the fire, which grew into a roaring flame. He cooked the skinned gnar over the flame and then ate one whole. He would have eaten the others as well, he was that hungry, but there wasn’t much other food around, and he knew he had to pace himself, to ration what little he had. The excitement for the night spent, Slate sighed and fell back into the chair next to the fire place. He took from the table next to the chair the Legend, the only book in the house, and opened it up to start again from the beginning for the hundredth time. Whenever he read the book, he heard the words in his mother’s voice. She had often read from it to Slate and his brother, Greene, when they were children. She passed when Slate was ten years old, but for him, it seemed like she lived on in the book’s stories. And so while it was Slate’s only real form of entertainment, it was also a link to a happier past. Reading from it was bittersweet.

  After finishing the story of Hent and Ote, one of the book’s shorter tales, Slate closed the cover carefully and set it back down on the table next to his father’s chair. He looked out the window at the rising moon and sighed. He sighed all the time since his father had left. His life had become one of sad resignation.

  Slate rose to sort the fire out for the night. As he was walking to where the poker was resting against the mantle, he noticed a letter on the floor by the front door. The weekly postal delivery must have come while he was away. It was probably more money from his father. It was nice to have the money, but there was little to buy with it, apart from Mrs. Gainee’s preserves or Old Man Crowthall’s awful zhin pies. Slate appreciated his father having left home to find work, but he really just wished his father had stayed. After all, there were always gnars to catch.

  Upon opening the letter, Slate was surprised to find that there wasn’t any money inside. He shook the envelope to make sure, then unfolded the letter inside. He couldn’t believe what it said. He must have misread it. The room was too dark. Slate took the letter closer to his candle and read the letter again. He hadn’t misread it. His father had found steady work in Airyel, on the southwestern coast of their island. And better yet, he was asking for Slate to join him.

  Slate had to read the letter a third time to make sure it was real. He sat back down on his father’s chair and stared out the window, then down at the letter. Was it really true? Could he finally leave his lonely village? Slate was so overjoyed that he couldn’t help but cry. He read the letter over and again, until the tears fell over a huge smile. There was no exact address in the letter at which Slate was to find his father, as he hadn’t secured permanent housing yet, but still, this was it. Slate’s ticket out. He felt like his prayers had been answered.

  He couldn’t wait until morning to leave. He packed what little food was left in the hut into his hunting sack, made sure the fire was out, and strode out the front door into the glowing light of the full moon. He nodded good-bye to every hut he passed. At the end of Main Road, he turned back to see the little village silent in the moonlight, bid it farewell, and started down the Janos Trail to what he hoped would be a much brighter future.

  After some time on the Janos Trail, Slate’s excitement wore off and he started to feel sleepy, and so he settled down on a dry patch of Alm covered over with needles to close his eyes and rest. But whenever he would begin to fall asleep, he would imagine he heard a woodbear or a blackstrake nearby, or hear his father calling, and would spring up weakly, only to fall over again in exhaustion when he realized it had only been his imagination. He considered turning around and going back home.

  “I don’t know, little fellow,” he said to a tiny scratchfurrow that scampered up onto his bag. “Maybe I should wait until morning. Maybe I can’t make the trip by myself.”

  The scratchfurrow chattered and ran away.

  “I guess everyone’s running away,” Slate said with a sigh.

  Eventually, the worrisome night changed to day again, and it was only then that Slate was able to sleep, for a short while. It was hardly enough to fully rejuvenate him, but, coupled with the warmth of the sun, it gave him the strength to rise up off the forest floor and continue down the path to the neighboring town of Mearror.

  Chapter 2