Chương 38: Chapter 35 ~ Theological Grievances

12/11/1111 EotTS 09: 00"Let us not stutter next time..." Gysel awoke from a dreamless slumber with a start; the alarm clock was ringing, as were the bells of the clock tower, drowning out a fading whisper. Languidly, she dragged herself from bed, and turned off the alarm clock; typically, the point of sleep was to make one refreshed in the morning, unfortunately: this was not such a morning. Dragging her feet behind her, she lumbered over to the wardrobe, and dressed.

She looked at the bed, the soft pillows and warm blankets—if it were not for the plan to order the hat with Wyohla, it would be best to simply crawl back in, and go back to sleep, class is optional anyway. After placing Kawvel upon his watch, Gysel reached under the pillow, removed the divination deck, and went to the desk. Pulling the deck from the box, she gave it a shuffle.

Setting it down on the desk, she rubbed her hands together; it was getting cold, so she went and got her brown knit cardigan and put it on, then returned to the deck.

"Hello, Divination deck, I have a question to ask you. Will my hat be well made?" She drew the top card. It was the Oracle of Looms, and the illustration was rather simple: it was a single woman sitting at a loom alone in a workshop; there was a window on the right with the tops of two heads peeking in. Gysel knuckled her forehead; what could the card mean?

This Oracle of Looms was good enough at her job to warrant people looking into her workshop, but she was not at the point where she herself wished to teach: she must have been a skilled craftswoman who was not yet taking any apprentices. This should reflect the milliner: meaning the hat would be made of quality materials and of the utmost craftsmanship.

"Thank you, Divination Deck. Goodbye, I will see you tomorrow." Giving a satisfied nod, Gysel shuffled the deck, returned into its box, and slid both back under her pillows.

"It is breakfast time, and you are coming with me today, Kawvel," said Gysel, as she plucked the bear from his station.

"I will likely not see anyone I know, so you are my company... as always." Gysel put on her shoes, and left for breakfast, fitting Kawvel into the left side of the waistband of her corduroy trousers as she walked. Upon arriving at the cafeteria, she ordered, and ate quickly.

The cheese was of a different variety to-day, but that was no issue; the Academy kitchen had good taste in cheese: always selecting ones that melted in a way that left them gooey, but not runny; always selecting ones that were bitter, but not too salty; always selecting ones where the slices were cut evenly, ensuring an uniform melt over both egg and beef; and most importantly, always selecting ones that tasted good, providing a far higher quality meal than Mother could dream of making.

Wiping her mouth with the provided cotton napkin, Gysel stood from the table, returned the tray, and checked the clock: only half-past nine—could the debate club have already gathered in the lecture hall? possibly, it would be worth checking, for if they have, the essay might be on the board already, saving twenty minutes, allowing for them to be allotted to reading.

Gysel started down the hall, tucking her cardigan behind Kawvel's head, just to make sure his vision was not obscured—he lives here too, and deserves to see the Academy. The library also served as a connecting room to two smaller wings (one on the left, and one on the right), with two larger, two-hundred-fifty-seat lecture halls in both wings, making four lecture halls in total.

Last week, the Philosophy 'lecture' was held in the furthest room of the left wing (when facing north), and would likely be in the same room this week.

Turning left from the center of the library, and stumbling past a group of men moving a large painting depicting a dyer maritime scene of crashing waves and thrashing sailors, Gysel made her way through the two sets of thick walnut doors that separated the library and the wing, avoiding the cracks formed in the flooring as the material switched from the mossy-green carpet of the library, to the bland stone tiles of the vestibule, and finally to the worn hardwood flooring of the lecture hall wing.

This hall, unlike the others, did not have pretty landscape paintings; instead it had portraits and busts of mostly bearded men lining the walls, who were typically bald, or in denial about the existence of the 'low tide' (like Visi), and each one had the same job: think about thoughts, but all the thinking throughout the dozens of centuries since the start of recorded history, and all the denying and philosophizing, could not bring back what was lost, for unlike boats, all hairlines do not rise with the tides.

The hall was dimly lit from hanging lights, and the sconces above paintings, and all the heavy green curtains had been pulled shut, allowing no natural light in (likely to encourage introspection).

Breaking from the well-trodden path worn into the floor, Gysel walked over to a window, and peeked behind the curtain, and peering out, into the cloister, but lo and behold: fog, fog as far as the eye could see, smothering the old oaks in the cloister, leaving only their lowest branches clawing out from within like the hands of drowning sailors.

There was really nothing else one could have expected from the Thoranyn morning aside from fog, so Gysel stepped away from the window, and walked to the lecture hall, avoiding eye contact with the busts and portraits as she went. Gysel tried the doorknob, giving it a turn and a tug, and it opened: the debate had begun fifteen minutes early (which was not much of a surprise).

Poking her head in, she looked around: there were only four people in the room: Visi, Lyvahn, Thyres, and the Professor, but none of them noticed her; they were far too captivated with their babble and jargon. She walked far enough into clearly see what was written on the blackboard: Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work! Write an essay on how the common man perceives a deity, and how and why you find this convincing or not convincing.

Read 'Ihn Yahldox out Tsytiseul,' and base your arguments for, or against, the text using only the text. Due on the twenty-sixth. Turning on her heel, Gysel left the lecture hall, but paused just past the threshold, and let the door shut on its own: it closed with a bang. She opened the door once more and peeked inside: the four did not seem to notice. Gysel walked back through the hallway to the library, and south to the bookstore.

The doorless alcove was congested, as students filed to the counter with the same blue paperback book: the same blue paperback book needed for the essay. Gysel picked up her pace, hurrying to find the book, making her way to the section of the store titled 'course material'; fortunately, there was more than enough to go around throughout the student population, and she plucked one at random from the shelf and started towards the line—is this Rhikyn Brothers again?

it feels like the Rhikyn Brothers again, it has that texture on the cover, where is the publisher information, second page? flip, oh, this paper does not feel that bad, it is the Rhikyn Brothers, interesting, it's a recent print too, it must have just arrived, maybe more than just the hat will be made well, or perhaps that hat will not be made well, and only this book, that would not be good, the hat is certainly more useful than the—"I can help you here, Gysel," said the clerk.

"Ah... All right..." Gysel muttered, as she looked blankly at the clerk—it is horribly rude to interrupt one when one is thinking.

"We got a lot of those in about a maiden ago, probably for this reason. I just have to take down the books for stock, then you can be on your way."

"All right."

"Are you sure you do not want it in a different format? We do have them."

"No, this is fine. This feels fine."

"Sure thing, Gysel. Enjoy. See you tomorrow. Bye, Kawvel." The clerk offered a small wave to Kawvel.

"I might. Good-bye. See you tomorrow." With a wave to the clerk and a shake of Kawvel's paw, Gysel left the bookstore and walked back to her dorm. Upon returning, Gysel removed Kawvel from the waistband, and set him on the desk, placing the book at his feet.

"I will be right back, I am going to get water... Yes, you are right, I should have gotten some treats from the cafeteria. That is all right... Yes, next time." Returning with a glass of water, Gysel sat down, and began to read (skipping the introduction and prefaces). Right from the start, the book was dense, discussing metaphysics centering around the Yahldox and the Shskthalt, and their relationship with the noumenal and phenomenal world.

This professor clearly assumed everyone had a prior understanding of what he was teaching—he is very, very wrong, and the author is continually referring to another one of his essays, which is not present in the book. She read for about an hour and fifteen minutes, making it through a staggering thirteen pages, or the first five treatises, and by then it was time for lunch. 12/11/1111 EotTS 13: 00 Gysel returned to the dorm after lunch to find Wyohla already seated at the table.

She was rotated ninety degrees in the chair, with both feet flat on the ground, and her hands on her thighs; from her how she was seated, she could stand without needing to slide the chair away from the table or turn her body: she looked ready to go.

"Well, look at you," Wyohla said, "tardy in your own home."

"I am not tardy." Gysel looked at the clock: the thirteenth hour, only a sliver past.

"I am here on time. You are tardy for being seated."

"No, I'm waiting." Wyohla pressed a gloved hand against the center of her collarbone, then pointed to Lyma's door.

"Lyma is the tardy one; she slept in."

"Is she—""How did you sleep?" Wyohla interrupted and asked.

"Fine. How did you sleep?"

"On my back, and like a babe. Did you have any dreams?"

"No." A muffled thumping came from behind Lyma's door, and it was pulled open, but just a crack. At first, most of the area behind it was the carroty orange of Lyma's hair, now unbraided, then the face of the hair's owner, and her half-dressed shoulder, appeared beside it.

"Shut up. You do not wake people like that."

"You are coming with us?" Gysel asked Lyma.

"Yes. Seeing as how I have to get my plaits redone." The door slammed.

"By a professional!" Wyohla snickered—how did Wyohla go about rousing the resting red-head? it might be best to refrain from inquiring, for it did not seem particularly kind... does Lyma still sleep with her door unlocked?

"Where are we going?" Gysel asked instead.

"I know a boutique that also has a milliner's workshop." Wyohla stood.

"It's across the city. Have you toddled over to the rich side of the city yet?" There was a rich side? was this then the poor side?

"Is it by Ardhy's?"

"No; it's past Visi's apartment. On the east side by the temple, and around the theater's park."

"What is the city's layout?" If where Ardhy lived was not the rich side, what was Ardhy's side? the very rich side?

"There are seven districts. We are in the Academic District. The area right after the bridge is the market and entertainment district. Ardhy lives in the Noble district. The Artisan district is past the market district and sells better stuff." That made enough sense and was easily visualizable.

"Why is the temple in the Artisan district?" Wyohla shrugged.

"Socio-economic reasons. Organized theology is a grift."

"What?" Mother and Father (mostly just Father) believed in predestination, and had steered their Daughter away from interacting with all things with theological, deeming them pointless, as the acquisition of material goods was immediately beneficial, and would prove the same thing that worship would: whether the Gods favored one or not, this was at least Father's logic behind it, and likely many others.

The Priestess in Wihrakolm, a frail woman named Eue (who was probably only a few years older than Wyohla: twenty-seven at most, despite being frocked nearly a decade ago), showed up to wish Father's Daughter a 'Happy Thirteenth Birthday' back in one-thousand one-hundred and five, as it was customary for the town priestess to celebrate the thirteenth birthday of all the girls with the family, but Father would not stand for this, his daughter did not need the blessing of the old world, for she was going to be a chemist, so he ran poor Eue out of the house, leaving her in the tears, likely traumatized, and walking back to the temple in the rain.

"People don't know that you can interact with Deities without a medium like a priestess," said Wyohla.

"And instead of telling them that simple fact, they set up temples to rake in cash from hylics."

"And the deity does not mind?"

"Why would they? They only want worship. Without the offering, there will be no more priestesses; without the priestess there will be no more congregation; and without the congregation, there will be no more deity."

"No," said Lyma, exiting her room. Her hair was tied into a large pumpkin-like bun on the top of her head.

"You're just a cynic. It's a lot easier to talk to a bound deity than an unbound one. You're just..." She trailed off.

"Some people just want advice or solace for a few coins and don't want to worry about possession."

"Sure." Wyohla held the 'U' for as long as it took her eyes to make two slow rotations of their sockets.

"Let's leave." She headed for the door and opened it, closing the conversation in its stead.