Chapter 2: The Scribe with the Ink-Stained Hands

The air shifted as Shion took another step into the courtyard. Its entrance was an archway of carved script, and behind her stretched the vast temple unlike any she had ever visited. Though there was no breeze, books and scrolls continued to float through the sky, intriguing her with their wordless pages that glowed faintly. With ancient covers and cracked spines, the texts would be unimportant to anyone else. But their blank pages, which carried the memory of ink, called to Shion silently.

Slowly, Shion reached for one, her trembling fingers coming close to the fragile parchment. Fearing what may happen if she touched the ancient pages, she clutched her hands to her chest. Her throat tightened as she was forced to acknowledge the bleak and empty pages as they floated past. Language itself had seemingly been erased. It was as if, even here, in this strange world, silence had claimed everything.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The voice caused her to jump, snapped out of her trance. She turned sharply, blinking away the wetness in her eyes. From between the floating books emerged an ethereal, yet slightly unkempt figure. He had copper-red hair in a somewhat lopsided ponytail, crumpled robes, and glasses that slid down the bridge of his nose as he studied her. Clutched in his ink-smeared hands was a long roll of parchment that seemed to unravel endlessly behind him.

Shion froze, unsure if he was friend or foe.Though he appeared as if he had just woken up, or hadn’t slept a day in his life, she recognized this figure as one and the same with the gorgeous carving in the temple’s halls.

Then his blue eyes were ignited with a sort of feverish delight. “Don’t be afraid,” he said in a friendly tone as he moved closer. “I saw it just now. The way your hands moved. You want to know where you are, yes?”

Shion’s pulse leapt and her heart pounded so hard she swore she could feel it pulsating throughout her petite frame. Someone had understood her. He had actually understood her. Perfectly. Instantly. And without any frustration.

He scribbled furiously with a quill in jagged strokes across the piece of parchment he held. “As I thought! This is just exquisite! The curve of your wrists, the intent behind the motions; all of it carries meaning. Form made language afterall. And when you think about it, language made the divine.” The way he spoke was bordering on manic, his words were tumbling all over, barely making sense to Shion.

She continued to look at him but grew more puzzled as his excitement grew. Shion hesitated, then slowly signed: Who are you?

“Oh goodness! How rude of me,” he gasped, placing a hand over his mouth. With an inviting grin, he spoke again, “My name is Shosei. God of knowledge. This is my Scriptorium of Falling Leaves. Rather,what remains of it.” He swept an arm out broadly in a theatrical motion, conjuring a storm of blank pages that swirled overhead.

His expression turned serious and he pushed up his glasses at last. “Every book in this sacred library has been emptied by The Wordless One. The word of the gods, including myself, no longer holds weight. Once, when gods spoke, the world would shift, functional and orderly. Rivers and rain flowed with ease, bringing prosperous crops to the mortals. The moon shone bright at night and in the morning, the sun’s rays brought warmth and happiness. Mountains trembled, rivers bent. But now? Our utterances fall flat.” He snapped his fingers and the wordless tomes ceased movement – some even fell to the ground. The silence that followed was as absolute as it had been inside the temple. “Our voices are without power; our stories without ink.”

Shion lowered her gaze. For her, words had never carried sound nor power. Not once in her 20 years of life.

Sensing her sadness, Shosei’s voice softened before he spoke again, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And yet, you have arrived here. A prophetic verse in the flesh. The missing bridge in the Song of Creation.”

Being assigned such a weighty title unsettled Shion. Was she merely a verse? Not a person with thoughts, feelings, and emotions?

He continued before she could formulate her thoughts and sign to him. “I implore you – let me record it all. Every flick of your wrist, every pause, every powerful gesture. All of it has meaning, even in your little finger.” His quill darted back to the scroll in his hand, poised and ready to begin scratching down the shapes of her signs.

Shion raised her hands, moving them slowly so she could be sure that he understood her. “You’re mistaken. I am not a prophecy. I am just…me.”

“Aha!” he exclaimed with glee, scribbling the phrase as though it was the most profound statement to ever be uttered. “‘Just me!’ Yes, I suppose that is precisely the sort of thing a foretold being may deliver. Would you not agree with that? Of course you will be so humble when you do not recognize your role here. Remarkable.” He spoke with awe, his bright eyes alive with the revelation.

A deep frown etched across her features and she began to step backward carefully. Her entire life, she had existed in two states of social existence: being othered for her difference or being treated as an idiot. Certainly, she had wanted to be seen, recognized, and most importantly, heard, but not in this way. She had never felt like a lab specimen, pinned beneath a scholar’s gaze.

Becoming privy to her unease and displeasure, Shosei’s hands abruptly stopped writing. His expression softened and he sighed, wiping the back of his wrist on his cheek and smudging ink across his cheek.

“My sincerest apologies.I don’t mean to… reduce you. I often get ahead of myself. It’s just that words can be twisted, yes? Even when our intentions are pure. And if even spoken words fall prey to manipulation, what of your hands? They embody such a unique language that holds an incredible power in this realm.”

His eyes met hers, showing a steady and sharp seriousness that sent a chill down her spine. “Be careful, Shion Takahashi. Your silence is not safe from those who would claim it. Without an understanding of your language, your words are the most easily mistranslated.”

For the first time in her life, Shion felt the weight of being understood. There was a thrill to it…and a danger. If she could not be understood by others, ill will may be assigned to the words that flowed through her hands. So that was why Shosei was so interested in recording every sign and its meaning.

When her eyes met Shosei’s, he smiled once more. It was gentler, more human as it tugged softly at the corners of his lips. “Still…your presence is a welcome one. At long last, someone whose silence speaks louder than the gods themselves once did.”

With those words, Shion felt comradery in another being for the first time in…ever.