Back in her room, Avis laboured a long time with the eight pieces of paper spread beneath her hands, upending notes (consisting mostly of single words, letters, and deep dark splotches where frustrated criss-crosses were made) into her journal. A long list of nouns and adjectives had begun snaking its way unevenly down the page. An hour or so passed before she gave up for the time being and leant back against her chair, mentally spent, but satisfied in the hope that she had managed to solve at least part of the riddle.Â
A few minutes of blank staring commenced as Avis's mind cast itself out on the waters to rest. Then, quickly, she snapped out of it, and, decisively picking up the quill again, she copied out the entirety of the verses on the dark page and fitted her chosen words in. She read it over and over, and over again. Not that it was completely new to her; he'd designed his pages so that they fed one into the other, and from the first she'd had an inkling of what to expect. Not that she needed to be certain she was right. Only that this was the second Story to be placed in her hand in a matter of days, and it was up to her to keep them both safe.Â
Even if she had never asked for them... no, that wasn't right; she'd asked for them as she always had, but she had never understood fully what that entailed until now.Â
Avis reached for one of the five pieces of parchment she'd plucked from Xavarian's study just the day before, and spent a few moments feeling its texture and its strength once again before she set her quill to it.Â
She stopped. Why should she send this to Xavarian? What was the point of acquainting him with thoughts even she disliked? What should she even tell him? In her agitation she nearly struck a line across the page, but decided it did no justice to the paper, and so she folded it away into a drawer and didn't look at it again.Â
Avis found herself making her way to the Drowning Wench. She longed suddenly for the cheery ruckus of the tavern, noise, laughter, strong drink. But even as she partook of her favorite brew her head swam with the same six (or seven, or eight) words over and over again, and she found - this was the strangest of all - that tonight she could not enjoy or even concentrate on any of the dozens of conversations alight all around her.Â
So she sat in her corner and brooded. Then she took her notebook to a bench at the Aftcastle, and brooded. Then the pier, where she brooded still more. Then the Bismarck, where she brooded long enough for the restaurant's manager to bother her personally about placing an order. (She never did.) Then back to her room, where her method of answer became clear.Â
A dozen or so revisions later, Avis folded up the few sheets of paper she'd penned on and ripped from her notebook (a sad, misshapen thing now) and made her way to Xavarian's room. She paused outside it, then remembered, not without a tangible jolt of disappointment, that he wasn't going to be around that much here anymore, and took it back to her room. Should she deliver it to his study at the Eagle & Quill? No; it was best that everything stayed here in the Mizzenmast, a world set apart from the other. But would he see it?Â
A total of three trips back and forth were made before Avis finally made up her mind. As always, the pages, fed into the dark slit under his door. Then it was sleep for her, finally, sweet, glorious sleep after a long, troubled time.Â
A few minutes of blank staring commenced as Avis's mind cast itself out on the waters to rest. Then, quickly, she snapped out of it, and, decisively picking up the quill again, she copied out the entirety of the verses on the dark page and fitted her chosen words in. She read it over and over, and over again. Not that it was completely new to her; he'd designed his pages so that they fed one into the other, and from the first she'd had an inkling of what to expect. Not that she needed to be certain she was right. Only that this was the second Story to be placed in her hand in a matter of days, and it was up to her to keep them both safe.Â
Even if she had never asked for them... no, that wasn't right; she'd asked for them as she always had, but she had never understood fully what that entailed until now.Â
Avis reached for one of the five pieces of parchment she'd plucked from Xavarian's study just the day before, and spent a few moments feeling its texture and its strength once again before she set her quill to it.Â
Quote:Perhaps I am viewing the world through a window, and even if I'm before it or walking through it, there is a pane between our souls, and I can't get into the wilderness...?
True knowledge is close and bitter. Is more than an old book of myths and legends. Is blood from biting your tongue and your cheek to keep the secrets in. Will hold you, bind you. The price to pay for the wilderness is your freedom.Â
Now I'm made custodian of -
She stopped. Why should she send this to Xavarian? What was the point of acquainting him with thoughts even she disliked? What should she even tell him? In her agitation she nearly struck a line across the page, but decided it did no justice to the paper, and so she folded it away into a drawer and didn't look at it again.Â
***
Avis found herself making her way to the Drowning Wench. She longed suddenly for the cheery ruckus of the tavern, noise, laughter, strong drink. But even as she partook of her favorite brew her head swam with the same six (or seven, or eight) words over and over again, and she found - this was the strangest of all - that tonight she could not enjoy or even concentrate on any of the dozens of conversations alight all around her.Â
So she sat in her corner and brooded. Then she took her notebook to a bench at the Aftcastle, and brooded. Then the pier, where she brooded still more. Then the Bismarck, where she brooded long enough for the restaurant's manager to bother her personally about placing an order. (She never did.) Then back to her room, where her method of answer became clear.Â
A dozen or so revisions later, Avis folded up the few sheets of paper she'd penned on and ripped from her notebook (a sad, misshapen thing now) and made her way to Xavarian's room. She paused outside it, then remembered, not without a tangible jolt of disappointment, that he wasn't going to be around that much here anymore, and took it back to her room. Should she deliver it to his study at the Eagle & Quill? No; it was best that everything stayed here in the Mizzenmast, a world set apart from the other. But would he see it?Â
A total of three trips back and forth were made before Avis finally made up her mind. As always, the pages, fed into the dark slit under his door. Then it was sleep for her, finally, sweet, glorious sleep after a long, troubled time.Â
[sub]Avis Inkwood | Qara Qalli
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journal/tumblr[/sub]
