Chapter 1: Manuals for... what?

Brandt turned out to be a man of his word. The following day, after the town’s trumpeter announced the tenth candle of the day, Anh remained close to the entrance, nervously peeking out the window. The kinfolk sighed a collective sigh of relief when a familiar silhouette of the Nord appeared in the field of view. Even Birdekk, or perhaps especially Birdekk, who was adamant that the entire situation is a stick-up, and they’d sooner see sad functionaries of Ordo Pro Cvrsi than the mystery artifact man.

But no, the Nord came, carrying a wooden chest. Anh opened the door and ushered him in. They exchanged conspiratory nods and, after closing and locking the door, they both navigated the labyrinthine aisles towards the back of the shop.

Now, the back room was far more interesting, at least from a tanai point of view, as there was more to do there, unlike the main shop proper. Despite being much smaller, it still had a sizable stash of books, squeezed onto several wall racks. There was a, strategically placed in the very middle of the room, a standing desk for copying texts. The writing utensils needed for the job were usually strewn in a tangled mess right across its surface. A reading pedestal, bookended by two fancy light crystals, stood by the window whilst on the opposite wall there was yet another desk, this time dedicated to hand-carved wooden sorts. As with other pieces of furniture, it was full of stuff: the woodworking tools and a jumble of half-finished elements of the printing press, which was the next step of the business expansion. Like everything else in the room, this too gave out the impression of a soon-to-be-completed perpetual work-in-progress. Last but not least, there was a stove built into a fireplace and also - hidden behind a wooden panel - a rarely used alcove filled knee-deep with soft pillows and adorned with a brass Fouring of Vihrs. However, even though the space had been planned out very well and arranged in a brutally efficient manner, the privy was still located in the corridor outside the shop, and could only be accessed by taking a roundabout trip. This was the prevalent custom in Cammot, and Anh didn't think much of it. Moving it inside would require significant alterations and it simply wasn't high enough on the list of his priorities to warrant investment.

For this occasion, Anh prepared the writing desk and also cleared half of his woodworking station. He did it by simply moving the stuff across, which made it look even more messy.

Brandt put the chest he brought on a table, popped it open, and stepped aside, gesturing at the tanai. He didn't say a word.

He didn't have to. Anh floated closer, adjusted the light, and carefully lifted the contents out, one by one, laying them out on the writing desk.

All in all, there were about thirty full pages and some fragments of damaged documents. Some, he could've sworn, were torn by an unidentified animal. Some smelled of dried urine, sweat, or both. Each piece was secured between two sheets of fresh parchment and five of these were further protected between covers made of wood and leather and secured with leather straps. Anh knew as much as everyone else about preserving ancient texts. Which is to say, very little indeed. If they were still useful they were simply copied, otherwise they were either burned or allowed to rot. But as little he knew, it seemed that what Zerster had done was good enough.

They talked for a short while, discussing requirements, reimbursements, and means of further communication, but the tanai was in no state to concentrate on the small talk. In the end, Brandt just smiled and left to allow him to get fully immersed in his work.

Anh initially didn’t expect this to take too much time. He may have been a novice copier, but after doing it for an entire year, he has gotten pretty good at it. However, after the first night, when he managed to copy just one page onto four other sheets of parchment, he was forced to dramatically alter his assessment. The task proved to be on another level of difficulty, and so he decided to close the shop for a week. Then, painstakingly, letter by letter, page by page, he moved the contents of the artifact to something that could be reliably handled.

Tow was ecstatic. None of the kinfolk had sensed him so lively since… well, ever. That however was justified, as this collection of papers was simply surreal. Each page filled margin-to-margin with text so ancient that it seemed out of place. Everything, from the grammar to spelling to punctuation was so weird that it seemed like it was not even Kherrid they knew. Reading was made even more difficult because a large portion of the text was heavily deteriorated. Letters, words, and sometimes entire sentences were barely visible. Sometimes words from the opposite sides would blend. Sometimes the paper just wanted to crumble under the slightest touch.

It took six long days. Day and night turned into one blur, interspersed with occasional breaks for eating, drinking, and a quick nap by the workbench.

At the end of the process, Anh and his kinfolk stank like a gutter, and their entire internal life lay in complete disarray, but they had almost two hundred sheets with as precise a copy of the original text as they could create. When they finished, they contacted Brandt in a manner the hoomin requested. Through Sabine Mittendorf, the owner of the “New Inn” in the Pevda.

The following day Brandt turned up at the bookshop almost, but not quite, at the exact moment it was supposed to close, and, after exchanging the requisite pleasantries, he was presented with a large pile of handwritten sheets.

For the first few pages, he kept comparing the results of tanai’s work to the original. After being content with what he saw, he allowed himself to get immersed in the experience, tracing lines of text, noticing every nuance in lettering, every serif, every bridge or curve. Most notably, he also noticed significant gaps, where Anh merely added little dots or dabs of ink, imitating the pattern of faded-out letters of the original document.

It all looked so… familiar. Like an acquaintance seen for the first time after many years.

The Nord could not place where he had seen such writing in any capacity and definitely could not read it, but… somewhere deep in his consciousness it all seemed very intimately known. Many times he'd have this fleeting sensation, that a particular word is known to him. He could have sworn that this one meant "to collect" and that one translates to "carefully"... but then the feeling inevitably passed and the text reverted to being as alien to him, as it was when he first pulled it out from a pile of rubble in a forgotten precursor ruin somewhere in southern Cammot. Even though Trawins did splendid work, copying and enlarging the letters, they still were simultaneously a familiar sight and a jumble of unknown shapes and markings.

-” Did you manage to read it?” - he finally broke the silence, with a slight emphasis on the word "you".

-” Sort of.” - replied startled Anh, then puckered his lips - “I could decipher a good deal of it, but not everything. And I couldn’t understand some of the text.”

-” I can see it is heavily deteriorated.”

-” Yes, but that's not the reason." - replied the tanai and kinetically squared the sheets, which the Nord had put back on the table - "It's that most of the text translates to gibberish. Some parts contain words I don’t understand… because those words don’t exist.”

Brandt raised his eyebrows.

-” Go on. What is your assessment? What are these papers exactly?”

The bookkeeper squinted and there was a short pause.

-” What we have here are the remains of two books…”- he said slowly as if he was choosing his words carefully -”...or pamphlets. Twelve pages come from a manual, of sorts, but the only parts which I could understand speak mostly about hexergy. Take a look.” - Anh shuffled the pages searching for a specific one. He then pointed to a fairly well-preserved piece of text - “Here. I hope I am going to pronounce this correctly. I am basing it on kerrid as it is currently spoken, however, this might have been completely different back then. Вхэн усинг пирохэkc, такэ цаутион, ас ит цаусэс...”

The tanai kept reading, but Brandt wasn't listening anymore. The passage hit him like a rockslide. He couldn't understand the words, but somewhere in his mind, a gear spun up trying to wake something.

...snow around him. A hatchet in one hand, and a piece of firewood in the other. A child pulling on his sleeve: 'Папа, папа, чомэ анд сээ тхлс!'...

-”...обйэчтс мигхт бэцомэ экстрэмэлы хот афтэр апплыинг ларгэ амоунт оф хэkcэргы потэнтиал. Инйуры мигхт хаппэн" - the tanai finished reading - "There… the passage warns about using too much pyrohex. For what purpose, and who'd have been the intended recipient, I have no idea. Every hexergist knows the dangers of...” - Anh stopped mid-sentence, noticing that his customer stares with unseeing eyes into nothingness - ”...sir, is everything in order?”

-” Yes. I'm fine.” - said Brandt, startled - “A… manual, you say?”

-” Well, as I was saying.” - the tanai cleared his throat and caressed his goatee - “This document is, essentially, full of ‘good advice’. How to use hexergy, how to treat wounds, which herbs to collect, and what to use them for. I would posit a fairly risky assessment, that it even describes how to obtain assistance from Precursors. Although that part is heavily damaged." - he cleared his throat again and looked at the hoomin as if to check if he was still listening - "I hypothesize that it might be something like survival instructions for a mercenary? Maybe for a special operative of some sort?”

Brand mulled this information for a few moments and then nodded and pointed at the stack of papers.

-” I understand. What about the other one?”

-” That one. Yes.”- the tanai paused for a second, looking suddenly fairly uncomfortable - ”That one is both more interesting and nonsensical at the same time. I was able to read the title. It is a Нанофоргэ Сэрвис Мануал.”

There it was again. Just hearing this language made Brandt recall... something.

...from his elevated position, he could see a large crowd of hoomin. They were cheering. A bloodied sword in his hand. And this loud chanting: 'Алл Хаил Тхэ Кинг '...

-”...we translate it directly, it is a manual for someone taking care of a Нанофоргэ. The word, the keyword, which I fail to translate." - he now looked almost embarrassed - "The ‘Форгэ’ part of that word means, literally, ‘a forge’. But the prefix ‘Нано’ is nonsensical. So, that pamphlet is a ‘some-kind-of-forge handler instruction’.”

-” Do you have any idea what these ‘Нанофоргэ’ are precisely?” - the ancient word rolled so naturally off his tongue, that the tanai raised his eyebrows and looked at him with suspicion. It surprised him as much as it did the bookkeeper. He coughed, trying to cover it up.

-” Right… if I was to be completely honest, I don’t understand most of what is written there."

-” What do you mean precisely?” - the Nord looked up from the papers - "Is it too technical, or…?"

-” Yes I guess that too… But mostly it's because the language used in this pamphlet is using words, or even whole sentences, which I find to have no translation. Those words have no equivalent in Cammona. Like this one here…” - Anh took the sheets, leafed through a few, and finally found the one he was looking for - "…Ready? 'Нанитэ инфусэд эмулсион хэлд ин элэцтромагнэтиц трап', which means unknown-word infused in unknown-word held in unknown-word. Or this one. This one is, uhh…” - the tanai once again searched through several pages - “...yes, this is an absolute gem. ‘пулвэрисэд тунгстэн анд царбидэ ин тво-этхыл-тво-фоур-политромидэ энцлосэд ин а царьридгэ, мэант фор лнфлукс ноззлэ оф тхэ матрикс алигнмэнт арраы’.”

…she was lying in bed. Her blue eyes filled with tears. Blonde hair in disarray. Lips dried and flaky. Skin pale and burning. She struggled to focus on him, tried to smile and then whispered 'Ыоу хавэ то ливэ он, мы ловэ…'

-“...Those are words. They have no meaning…” - Anh stopped abruptly when he noticed Brandt’s sudden lack of attention - ”...sir, are you feeling alright?”

Brandt rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes, then made a dismissive gesture and nodded. This wasn't going the way he envisaged. Or rather the way he hoped it would go. The texts evoked… something. But it was too intangible to hold on to. To provide the straight answers he was looking for…

For as long as he could remember, there was a collection of odd things that belonged to him, stashed in different places, secure, forgotten by everyone but him. He even had a list of these, but undoubtedly not everything was there. Among these things were some old weapons and armor, some jewelry but also more than a few chests of ancient coins, gold and silver nuggets, and, most importantly, stacks of yellowed documents issued by rulers of forgotten lands. These things were his inheritance, he told himself, telling a long and glorious story of the shifting fortunes of a brave family. Nestors of the clan of the long-lived hoomin, ready to go places and have a bright future. And he was just the last one in that line.

But things have changed. Ever since he and Dragman split ways, ever since their fateful adventure with an actual, honest-to-Vihrs dragon, ever since the unfathomable truths were uttered, bonds were broken and illusions shattered, he couldn’t find peace. The identity he built for himself ceased to exist, leaving him with just one question: "Who Am I?". The papers he possessed provided only more questions. He needed to search elsewhere.

Those documents he brought to the crazy tanai bookkeeper? They were the first find that offered a glimpse of the answer, a window to his past, but it was fast becoming obvious that it would most likely not be the case. A costly failure.

Although, he wasn't going to dismiss the papers just yet, based solely on the word of a mere copyist. There might be some overlooked details that could still prove useful.

He sighed deeply and returned the rest of the sheets to the tanai.

-” Anything else you can tell me?” - he asked in a slightly deflated tone.

-"Well, as a matter of fact…" - replied he, hesitantly - "There is a thing or two in there, among the plethora of mysteries of course, which stand out. But I'd need more time to research them."

-"Understood. These papers are useless to me in this form anyway and I would very much like to have them translated. Would you be able to assist with this?"

Anh visibly perked up.

-"Absolutely, sir! But I will need another couple of days to finalize it."

-” Excellent. Thank you, Mr Trawins. I am very pleased with your work so far." - Brandt rubbed his hands together in a merchant fashion - "Now, on to the reimbursement. How much is your time worth?”

The tanai became uneasy all of a sudden, his eyes glazed over for a short while, a sign that a fierce discussion was taking place inside his head.

-” My usual rate is shilling per page. This would work out at two ryals and two shillings, inclusive of ink and quills." - he finally uttered in an almost apologetic tone - "But this required me to close the shop for a week. So I’m at a loss of about ten ryals in turnover.”

Brandt liked dealing with the tanai. They were honest, very rarely greedy and their work was usually completed to a high standard. They were more likely than not to be a little bit loopy, but overall it was worth the risk. In this case, the request was more than reasonable - a copyist who simply offers their "standard" rate to copy forbidden texts in a long-dead language and does not inflate the bill, because he needed to hire an entire mercenary company to guard them whilst doing so, must be a rarity. He smiled and reached to his satchel, pulled out a piece of paper, which he then stretched over the workbench. The piece was already filled with rows of letters and had a stamp of Zerstbank in the corner. Hoomin looked around, searching for a reed pen and inkwell, and finally found them on the neighboring table. Then he scribbled a number on the document and put down his signature.

-” This is an official note for Sheridawn Zerstbank on my name, for a quota of twenty golden ryals." - he handed it over to the tanai - "I have to leave on business for three, maybe four days. If you can make a proper translation of the documents to Cammona, and maybe have your theories worked out, before I return, I shall add another five on top of this.”

Anh took the document Brandt just signed and studied it for a while. He must have been satisfied with the outcome because in the end, he smiled.

-” I am honored to work for such a generous client. I will get the translation ready in time.”

-” Thank you. Before I go, allow me to remind you: this never happened, I was never here, and you never saw these papers.” - Brandt collected original documents, wrapped them the same way he brought them in, and packed them into the chest, leaving the copied texts on the table. Once done, he extended his hand towards Anh. The tanai reciprocated, with visible unease. They shook hands, the Nord nodded and then left, quietly closing the door behind him.