Chương 45: Chapter 44: The Intellectual’s Complicity

Upon reaching the main chamber, both women went straight to the acolyte. Elian was still sitting exactly where he had been all this time, upon that stone that served as his throne, one hand resting on his chin in a gesture that gave him an erudite, almost sculptural air. The torchlight danced across his youthful features, creating shifting shadows. Only then did Selena speak with all the conviction her uncertainty allowed.

It was not certainty that drove her, but a decision, a conscious choice to move forward despite not seeing the full length of the path. —Elian, this is Kaela. She will also be part of the agreement. I expect you to teach her as best you can. The acolyte nodded, a slow, almost ceremonial movement. Then he looked at the tanner and smiled. His smile was genuine and warm, as if he were truly glad to see her there. He only said: —It is a pleasure to meet you, Kaela.

I believe we shall get along better than your eyes currently suggest. He paused, and then, turning to Selena, added: —By the way, the Master said he is waiting for you in the study. Selena left them alone. She turned and walked toward the dark stone corridor, feeling the distance between her and Kaela stretch like an invisible but taut thread. Behind her, she heard only the murmur of the introduction, the first words of what would be a new relationship, a new apprenticeship, a new shared risk.

She walked through the rock passages, guided by the flickering light of the tallow lamps hanging at the far end. Every step took her further from the safety of the known and closer to the place where answers awaited. Finally, she reached the threshold of where Corren was. Looking toward the desk, she saw him. There he was, in the same position she had seen him previously, sitting among his mountains of books and parchments.

The only difference was that his eyes were fixed on an open book before him, his pale fingers stroking the edge of the pages with an almost obscene tenderness. Selena cleared her throat softly. The sound was minimal, barely a graze, but in the silence of the chamber, it echoed like distant thunder. Corren looked up. His dark eyes, underlined by heavy bags, settled on her with a calm that only he could project.

Only then did she speak, with the same determination she strove to maintain, even if everything inside her was a storm. —She and I accept the agreement— Selena announced, without preamble or detour, devoid of the false courtesy often expected in negotiations. Her voice took on the tone of one bargaining from a position of strength. —Payment must begin today, and you must provide us with lunch every day. Corren nodded slowly.

Satisfaction reflected on his face, not as an overflowing emotion, but like a deep river that only betrays itself through small glints on the surface. —It is a deal— he ratified, his deep voice filling the small space with its resonance. —You will eat with us. Payment will be made each day when you depart. He paused deliberately, savoring the concession like someone tasting an aged wine. —It shall be seven copper crowns for each of you. He could not help but smile.

It was a broad, genuine smile that illuminated his gaunt features and transformed them for an instant. But Selena remained just as determined, her expression unchanging, her gaze fixed on him without blinking. —Furthermore— Corren continued. —I already notified Elian, when you stepped out, that your friend is to be instructed. Selena smiled as well. It was a small, contained smile, but real.

In her chest, however, there was doubt, an instinctive caution toward him, toward all of this, toward the path they were taking. But there was also something else: the certainty that even if everything went wrong, even if she fell, even if the pyre claimed her, Kaela would have a better chance. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Even if everything goes wrong, she thought, if Kaela flees, she might not fall back to the streets. Not with that money.

Corren cut through her thoughts with his heavy voice. When he spoke, she listened intently, her curiosity piqued by the direction the Master's mind would take. —Do you think that I might now ask the questions I desire? — he inquired, while a subtle smile, charged with genuine interest, took hold of his lips. Selena simply nodded calmly. It was an exchange. They wanted her ancient knowledge, those quotes that sprang from her lips without her knowing where they came from.

She wanted answers, money, and an opportunity for Kaela. Everything had a price. —No problem— she replied, her voice sounding serene and controlled. Corren interlaced his pale fingers over the desk. He reflected for a few seconds before speaking again, his dark eyes lost in some middle point between reality and thought.

—If our followers on the Way of the Inner Voice have children— he began, every word measured, every syllable heavy as a stone, —should we teach them the Way, or leave them free, but with the possibility that they fall into the blindness of the established faith? The question was not a rhetorical exercise. Selena saw it in his eyes: there was a genuine struggle within them, the conflict of an ideologue facing the pragmatic and dangerous task of perpetuating a belief. To impose the truth to save them?

Or to leave them free to choose, even if they choose poorly, even if they choose the complacency of the false? Selena did not need to think much. The answer emerged from a deep place within her; from the memory of the man, she once was, that philologist who had dedicated his life to words and critical thinking. This time, the sting in her head was more diluted, like a distant echo, as if her brain had learned to process these surges without so much pain.

—Freedom— she said, and her voice resonated with a clarity that surprised even herself, —is a conscious act of choice to pick the path that will bring you happiness. Not every teaching makes you free, just as not every blind man will refuse to see forever. She paused, letting the words settle in the heavy air of the cave, finding their weight, their meaning, and their echo against the rock walls.

—Ultimately, the reason for a human being's existence is to seek their own goal of happiness in a world that, repeatedly, denies it to them. Corren's eyes were eloquent. They opened slowly, as if Selena's words were a light dissipating from a fog he didn't even know existed. But Selena was not finished. —If you want a single answer, it would be this: — She paused, savoring the sentence she was about to utter. —Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself. Corren did not open his mouth.

He only moved his hand to his chin, stroking it with that reflective gesture. He remained in that silence, staring at nothing for several long minutes that stretched like hot rubber. The silence became uncomfortable, then dense, then almost unbearable. Until finally, after taking a sip of water from his glass, he stood up and walked toward her. His steps were slow and deliberate, as if every movement required conscious deliberation.

When he spoke again, his voice had a tone of profound absorption, as if Selena's words were still echoing somewhere inside him. —That is enough for me for today— he declared. —I must meditate upon these words. He reached the threshold of the passage and stopped there. He turned back toward her, gesturing vaguely toward the shelves that lined the walls. —And you— he added, —must read to understand ours. My library is at your service.

He paused at the threshold, about to disappear into the shadows of the passage, and tossed a final instruction like a wink of intellectual complicity, a shared secret between seekers of truth. —By the way, the white-covered books with gold details are usually about mythology, folklore, or ancient beliefs. You might find something there to help you understand where those words that spring from you come from, without you knowing why. He said no more.

He slipped through the passage and his figure merged with the shadows, leaving behind only the echo of his receding footsteps, growing weaker until they vanished completely. At last, she was alone. Alone with books. Real books. Books with answers. A feeling of urgency was born in her chest like a wild animal, struggling to get out, to hurl itself upon the shelves, to devour all the accumulated knowledge in a single sitting. Selena took a deep breath. She sighed.

She let the air escape slowly, very slowly, and bit by bit she controlled that urgency, taming it, keeping it at bay. Only then did she think of the Master's words. Mythology. Folklore. Ancient beliefs. The keys could be there. There, she might find the origin of those phrases that bubbled from her lips like water from a spring whose source she did not know. Finally, she approached the shelves. Her trembling fingers caressed the spines of the books, feeling the texture of the leather, the parchment, the cloth.

Titles in languages she did not recognize, authors whose names she had never heard, but all of them containing that incalculable treasure. She knelt down and, from the bottom corner, took the first one with a white cover and gold lettering. The book was heavy and solid, with an intense aroma of paper that filled her lungs with an ancient, forgotten, comforting happiness.

She ran her hand over the cover, feeling the raised gold letters, and read the title:"Compendium of Legends and Myths of Erabergh" by Numan of Zison.