The Archive Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE ARCHIVE

  First edition. November 12, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Dan Fitzgerald.

  Written by Dan Fitzgerald.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  The Archive (The Maer Cycle, #2)

  Chapter: | One

  Chapter: | Two

  Chapter: | Three

  Chapter: | Four

  Chapter: | Five

  Chapter: | Six

  Chapter: | Seven

  Chapter: | Eight

  Chapter: | Nine

  Chapter: | Ten

  Chapter: | Eleven

  Chapter: | Twelve

  Chapter: | Thirteen

  Chapter: | Fourteen

  Chapter: | Fifteen

  Chapter: | Sixteen

  Chapter: | Seventeen

  Chapter: | Eighteen

  Chapter: | Nineteen

  Chapter: | Twenty

  Chapter: | Twenty-One

  Chapter: | Twenty-Two

  Chapter: | Twenty-Three

  Chapter: | Twenty-Four

  Chapter: | Twenty-Five

  Chapter: | Twenty-Six

  Chapter: | Twenty-Seven

  Chapter: | Twenty-Eight

  Chapter: | Twenty-Nine

  Chapter: | Thirty

  Chapter: | Thirty-One

  Chapter: | Thirty-Two

  Chapter: | Thirty-Three

  Chapter: | Thirty-Four

  Chapter: | Thirty-Five

  Chapter: | Thirty-Six

  Chapter: | Thirty-Seven

  Chapter: | Thirty-Eight

  Chapter: | Thirty-Nine

  Chapter: | Forty

  Chapter: | Forty-One

  Chapter: | Forty-Two

  Chapter: | Forty-Three

  Acknowledgements

  Also By Dan Fitzgerald

  About the Author

  This book is intended for adult audiences. It contains violence and sexual content.

  Chapter:

  One

  Carl watched Dunil run his pupils through their paces in Islish. Some of them were older than Dunil, but there was no doubt who was in charge.

  “Repeat: One, two, three, four, five...No, five, fiiive, not fa-eve, six, seven, eight, nine, yes niiine, ten...”

  Karul and the council had decided that all Maer children would learn Islish, and the adults were encouraged to as well, though that was more complicated. The children were making great progress under Dunil’s tutelage, and occasionally one of the bolder ones would try to engage with Carl in a ‘Hello, how are you?’ dialogue. He was not great with kids, but he respected the courage it must have taken for them to try, so he gave them what little time he could spare.

  “He seems to be a born teacher,” Fabaris said, sidling up next to Carl. “How is his Islish?”

  “Amazing,” Carl said. “Better than my Maer, for sure.”

  “You speak Maer better than any human I’ve ever met,” Fabaris said with a smile.

  “And how is your Islish coming?” Carl asked.

  “I am not speak of this.” Fabaris chuckled, then switched back to Maer. “Perhaps I just need a little private tutoring from Ujenn.”

  “We have an expression in Islish: Need is the mother of...how do I say it?”

  “Invention,” Fabaris said, nodding. “Necessity is the mother of invention. We have this expression as well.”

  “It makes you wonder if the two languages came from the same source,” Carl mused.

  “I am certain of it,” Fabaris agreed, “as I am certain that our people are one and the same, if you go far enough back in history.”

  “And with any luck, if you go far enough into the future it will be true again.” Carl thought of his nights with Ujenn, and his awkward couplings with Grisol under Ujenn’s guidance. She had not recently spoken of the need for another ritual, but he could tell it was on her mind. He was working hard to keep it out of his.

  “Gods willing,” Fabaris said. “I look forward to Finn and Sinnie’s return, for we surely need more Islish speakers around.” He paused, twirling one of the little braids on his chin, his eyes thoughtful. “You know, it is said there was a full set of Maer-Islish word scrolls in the Archive.”

  Carl’s ears perked up. He had heard Fabaris mention the Archive before, with a kind of scholarly reverence. “Do you think it still exists?”

  Fabaris shook his head, widening his eyes. “No one knows for sure,” he said, “but I believe it is still intact. It was designed to withstand millennia. As you know, the Maer are a very far-thinking people.”

  “That you are,” Carl agreed, and the two of them stood quietly, half-watching Dunil’s lesson. Carl appreciated the thoughtful, deliberative way the Maer managed their resources and planned for the future, and the decision to teach Islish was just another part of that. Castle Maer was more a place of living and growing than a military stronghold. To be sure, they took their defense seriously, but they valued the raising of children and the nurturing of their culture even more. Carl wished the Realm took such an approach.

  “So if the Archive is still intact, where could it be?” Carl turned to Fabaris, who screwed up his face and shrugged.

  “Like I said, no one knows for sure, but it is bound to be in the mountains somewhere, toward the south, perhaps near the Great Tooth, since according to Maer legend that is where we came from. It would be a fitting place to house the Archive.” He paused, toying with his braids again. “There are surely those who know more than I, but...” He shook his head, his eyes distant. “Much was lost after the Great Betrayal,” he said, “and not all of it can be regained.”

  Carl nodded thoughtfully, trying not to feel personally attacked by the term. The Maer occasionally made reference to it, and he had mostly puzzled it out. After the Great Treaty between the humans and the Maer, the humans had supposedly conducted a series of midnight raids to decimate the Maer’s defenses, then scattered them across the Silver Hills, pushing them to the brink of extinction. Carl imagined them gravitating toward the Great Tooth, the tallest mountain on the continent, which he had seen on an old map Elder Gummache showed the children during their studies back in Brocland.

  The map showed the Isle and the northern half of the continent in great detail: cities, towns, rivers, lakes, mountains, and roads, all drawn and labeled with care. But the Silver Hills, beyond the ones visible from the north, were represented as a series of more or less equal and nameless carets, with one exception: the Great Tooth, which was five times their size, located near the southern end of the Silver Hills, at the center of the continent. The mapmaker had drawn a great dragon curled around the base of the mountain, smoke oozing from its nostrils. In their childhood games, the village children had plotted explorations to the Great Tooth, and whoever could defeat the dragon would find a hoard of treasure so vast it would take a lifetime just to transport it.

  “Do you like mushrooms, Kyol?” Dunil was asking a boy in the class.

  “Yes, I love mushrooms!” Kyol answered with gusto. “And you, Dunil? Do you like mushrooms?”

  “Oh yes,” Dunil said, rubbing his stomach. “Mushrooms are my favorite foods.”

  “Food,” Carl said to himself, smiling.

  “What was that?” Fabaris asked.

  “Nothing,” Carl said. “Dunil made a little mistake, but it doesn’t matter. He’s really doing a great job.”

  “He relishes the authority,” Fabaris commented. “I think it helps him cope with...” He eyed Carl almost apologetically.

  “His father.” Carl touched Fabaris on the shoulder. “Sometimes I forget.
” Though it was Sinnie’s arrow that had felled Roubay, it could just as easily have been Carl who killed him. Everything had happened so fast, and the six Maer they had slain after being ambushed had seemed like monsters at the time. No one in the castle ever mentioned what had happened on Hollow Road, not even Ujenn. Ever since the Parzek had cleared Carl and his friends, the subject seemed to have become taboo, and as a result, Carl sometimes went an entire day or more without thinking about it. But he was living and working every day alongside friends and family members of those he and Sinnie had killed, and he was sure that in the eyes of some he was a murderer.

  “Hello Carl!” Dunil called from inside the room. “Come to speak in the class!”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Fabaris touched Carl lightly on the back. “I have some research to do. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Indeed,” Carl said, then walked into the little room and switched to Islish. “Okay, Dunil, but just for a moment. What are we learning about today?”

  “Mushrooms!” called one of the girls, no more than five years old. “Carl, do you like mushrooms?”

  Chapter:

  Two

  Fabaris listened outside the classroom for a minute as Carl engaged with the children in Islish. He only understood a few words, which as a scholar was embarrassing, but he would find time, he assured himself. If only he could get his hands on some written texts, he was sure he could make more progress. When Carl had shown up with his wagonload of goods for the castle, Fabaris had been crestfallen to see there were no written documents among the supplies, but Carl had brought him a blank ledger, which Fabaris treasured so much he had not allowed himself to write a single word in it. He had decided to use the ledger to keep a record of their modern occupation of Castle Maer, but had not yet begun. He needed to be unshakably certain this was the best use he could make of it, since there was no telling if he would ever be able to get another. Rarely in his life had he come across paper, and then only scraps, maps, and scrolls, yellowed with age. Now that he had an actual book full of blank paper, ninety-six pages of pure untapped potential, he was terrified of wasting one line.

  Fabaris skirted the edge of the bailey and made for the roost, the crumbled remains of a watchtower where they kept their pigeons. It was one of the few places in the castle where he could be truly alone, as no one other than himself and Jundum ever went there. The pigeons cooed in their wooden cage as he made his way up the uneven stone steps, and he retrieved a few seeds from his pocket and tossed them into the cage. The birds fell upon the seeds in a flurry of wings and beaks, then strutted around, looking for any stray seeds that might have fallen in the corners of the cage. Stromus, the undisputed cock of the roost, poked his orange beak out of the cage, and Fabaris tweaked it playfully with his fingers, then stroked Stromus’ black head. Some of the other pigeons cozied up, hoping for a few more seeds, but Fabaris had to disappoint them. He stepped past the cage, leaned against the spot between the two remaining battlements, and looked down onto the valley below.

  He casually scanned the edge of the forest that lined the river, which they had named the Free River, despite Fabaris’ objections. He felt strongly that natural features should be named for their location or physical nature, but Karul had sipped of the Great Council’s sickly-sweet verbiage and wanted to make his mark in their world. Only time would tell if his gesture would yield any returns, but it irritated Fabaris every time he looked at the river or the woods it ran through. He shook his head and focused, watching the forest edge for any signs of movement. Carl had said he didn’t think there was any imminent danger of an attack by the Realm, but the patrols had found tracks in the forest, and they had spotted two humans from a distance. One was a robed figure carrying a staff, the other an armored man with a sword and a bow, and they surely weren’t out to visit their sick grandmother.

  Fabaris saw nothing of note, and his mind soon wandered. His talk with Carl had brought the Archive creeping back into his thoughts. He had pictured it in his mind a thousand times, a huge vault full of marble shelves lined with rows upon rows of books, scrolls, and maps, but more precious still, untold numbers of original bronze cylinders, ready to reproduce the sum of all knowledge of the ancient Maer civilization on command. Only a few of the cylinders were still in circulation, and the rest were presumed buried in the Archive. Karul had been granted three map cylinders by the Great Council, one for each of the territories along what the humans called Hollow Road and the Snake River. Now that was a name for a river, he thought; it could be the serpentine track of the river, or the creatures that lived along it, or both. It satisfied reason while leaving room for the imagination. But no matter the name, it belonged to the Maer, as the cylinder maps attested, and Karul was free to do with the cylinders, and the maps they produced, as he saw fit.

  Fabaris struggled to imagine the difficult decisions made by the Maer leaders of old, as they saw their empire, even their very existence, hurtling toward the void. Which cylinders to keep, which to lock away forever, and how far to throw away the key. Or hide it in such a way no one could find it. No one, he mused. No one Maer could be trusted with the key to their entire civilization, but neither would they let the knowledge become lost forever. Or so he hoped.

  But it wasn’t just the wonder of the Archive’s contents that kept it constantly in the back of Fabaris’ mind. The Archive, if it still existed, would give concrete benefits. It would contain documents vital for the Maer’s claim of dominion over many territories now controlled by humans. It might even contain proof of the Great Treaty which, according to Maer lore, the humans signed, then reneged on, attacking the Maer at their most vulnerable after promising peace. They had broken the bulk of the Maer army and spent the next decade hunting down any remaining pockets they could find in the mountains. The few Maer who survived the purge had fled farther away from human civilization, scratching out a bitter existence in the rocky heights of the Silver Hills, biding their time until they could once again lay claim to their rightful territory.

  Whether or not the legends were true, the time was nowhere near right for any kind of drastic action. The Maer were on a century clock, hoping to rebuild slowly, far from the reach of the Realm’s military, until their numbers were sufficient to make their move. Except that Roubay and his band had screwed it all up, awakening the Ka-lar and trying to claim Brocland when they had no means to hold it, and bringing scrutiny to the Maer in the process. Fabaris doubted the Maer’s apology to the citizens of Brocland and their promise of compensation held much weight, but it could open the door for diplomacy, and with Carl in their camp, they might just stand a chance.

  Fabaris turned to look behind him, across the mountains to the southeast, where the Great Tooth pierced the clouds somewhere far beyond the reach of his eyes. He imagined himself flying like an eagle, soaring between icy mountaintops and over misty valleys toward the Tooth’s towering white peak, then gliding down the side of the mountain, through the clouds and into a wooden glen, to a door cleverly hidden in the side of a boulder or in a crevice at the base of a cliff. At the touch of his beak, the door would slide open, and the wonders of the ancient world would be spread out before him, treatises on law, science, history, and religion alongside untold reams of poems, longstories, and songs. The few songs he knew from that era were of such richness and beauty that they had clearly come from a culture overflowing with music, only a tiny fraction of which had survived in the minds and on the tongues of those privy to such learning.

  He turned to look back down over the forest, and found himself humming bits of the Skin Man, the ancient tale of the Maer queen who took a human lover, resulting in great tragedy for all. He had not sung the song for the residents of Castle Maer, for obvious reasons, but its melody haunted him in spare moments, and he sang it low in his throat, his memory unleashing the music with such force it was hard to keep from singing it at the top of his lungs. As he built up to the chorus, he heard another voice humming in tune, and he co
uld not have been more surprised when he turned and saw Karul sticking his fingers in the pigeon cage, humming along to this ancient, little-known song.

  When they had finished humming the chorus, Fabaris stopped and smiled at Karul, whose lips turned up ever so slightly in return. “Where did a warrior learn such an obscure song?”

  Karul stood and walked to the battlements next to Fabaris, looking out over the forest below. “I sought the path of scholarship at the time of my Choosing,” Karul said, “but I was not among the wisest, and given my size, the elders saw fit to put me in a warrior slot.” He turned to Fabaris, squinting into the setting sun. “It was probably for the best. Reading was always hard for me, though I got better as I worked on it. My voice was an awkward low baritone, but not deep enough for bass, and I fought much better than I sang. And more often.” He gave a snort, picking a bit of pebble from the wall and tossing it over the edge.

  “If I had known you could sing, I would have called on you to join me in Nightsong from time to time.”

  “Precisely why I never let on.” Karul pulled out the hollow sunflower stalk he used for scanning the forest edge.

  “According to Carl, the humans have such devices with crystals in them that somehow make everything look ten times bigger,” Fabaris noted.

  “Maybe if we catch those spies they will have such a device,” Karul said. “For now, this helps me focus on one bit of terrain at a time, so it’s better than nothing.” Fabaris had noticed Karul’s distance vision was not the best.

  “Didn’t Carl advise against engaging with the spies directly?” Fabaris tried to give Karul a stern look but could not catch his eye.

  “He did. And he might be right. But if we catch them, think of what we might learn.” Karul lowered the stalk and turned back to Fabaris. “I have no intention of harming them unless absolutely necessary, but they cannot be allowed to spy on us with impunity. This territory,” he said, waving his arm toward the forest below, “is not under Realm jurisdiction. It belongs to us.”