Sage and The Book of Knowledge

This is a story about a book.

Spoiler alert.

Not a musty old book crackling with age in some forgotten bookshop. This is a book that changed worlds, built cities, even dabbled in poetry once or twice. This is a story about how even the smallest action can send shockwaves ricochetting through a world. Not the world. Not on a cosmic, come-with-me-if-you-want-to-live way. Don't get carried away, please. A world. And that's quite enough mischief for now, thank you very much.

This book, I hear you ask, what is it like? Does it glimmer with gold gilt? Is it a weighty tome bound in emerald leather? Is it studded with rubies? Friends and enemies, I am sorry to disappoint but this book is quite ordinary. Shocking, isn't it? One would expect something more than a faded pocket book that was black but feels the grey creeping in. This book used to be the most sought after treasure and was lovingly cared for. But after several unplanned adventures and one unfortunate experience with a river it has become slightly battered, faded and not a wit wiser for it. However, on account of you picking up this particular yarn I hardly need to tell you, you should never judge a book by its cover.

Now, with the pleasantries out of the way, allow me to introduce you to our heroine. Are you ready?

Let us begin.

The Tear

A girl sat on the edge of a river that surrounded a town, framing it like a postcard. The river flowed around the town on its way to the sea, rolling around the collection of white-washed houses that had stubbornly sprung up in its path, imposing the will of humanity on nature and turning the river aside on its quest to freedom. So a mighty elemental power sighed at the impertinence of man, split in two and enclosed the town in its arms, continuing its implacable route to become one with the ocean.

To the girl, the river marked the boundaries of her world, a fast flowing full stop beyond which there was nothing but forests and folklore. The town itself was called The Tear on account of the shape carved by the river, like a single teardrop down a green face, marking the last settlement before the sea. One last drop of civilisation before falling off the edge of the map. But back to our heroine. She sat at the northernmost point of The Tear, where the earth jutted out like the prow of a ship facing the rapids roaring towards it before they spilt, racing to meet at the other end of the town. Her burnished bronze hair caught the sunlight like the glow of molten metal in the forge, and her dark eyes were shrewd. There she sat, attentive reader, with her hair blowing in the wind looking all proud and heroine-like. Although, considering I didn’t know her at this point, I guess she was nothing but a merchant's daughter, and an odd one at that, so let's dispense with the air brushing, shall we? 

As anyone who has sat by a fast moving river shaped like a teardrop in the middle of nowhere can attest, the wind whipped her hair all over the place, the spray from its path left rapidly spreading patches over her pretty green trousers and her eyes, though admittedly brown with amber flecks, were not shrewdly cast as they were scrunched against sunlight, spray and wind. There, now she's much more real relatable.

Tearsfolk prospered from the river’s speed and might, its rapids providing unlimited power and ensuring a continuous and profitable trade with the land-locked towns in the north. So while the girl was sat in the grass with spray caressing her face, she sat in finely woven emerald linen; wide-leg trousers below a snug waistcoat and a cream shirt with those big sleeves that get in the way of everything.

And one final detail. Her name was Sage.

Sage

The spray of the rushing river was a welcome burst of freshness against Sage's face after the musty heat of the town. She often came to the tip of The Tear to think and escape her life for a few peaceful moments. Following the path of the right bank back to town, it was if she were two people: her left-side catching familiar scents of leather, sweat and dust, her right side open to the bright, clean scent of water carried on the breeze. Sage felt like that breeze more and more. Starting off bright and untameable but caught, dampened and dirtied as it moved through the town, searching frantically for the way back out but stuck in in listlessly swirling eddies. She grinned ruefully, imagining telling her brother of this comparison and how he would snort with laughter. She loved his laugh, loved seeing his eyes lift from his work and creasing at the corners with mirth. She knew exactly what he would say, too. The same thing he said everytime she wandered despondent into his studio:

“Sister, you must be the only person who can live surrounded by wealth and want to be the wind instead.”

Then a grin, a hint of the mischievous boy he had been returning to his eyes as he looked to the ceiling and chanted:

“Sage, Sage, made for the stage,

Laughter laughter is her wage,

Wants the wind, wants to be free,

Wants to travel to the ends of the sea.”

Cheered by the thought of wasting time with her brother before being caught she turned for home, but stopped as she spotted something bobbing in the reeds at the base of Westbridge, one of two access points to The Tear. Frowning, she scrambled down the grey stone, holding to the large iron nails protruding from a time when metal links had hung into the water. Balancing precariously she leaned down, grasped the dark square and hauled herself back to safety.

“A...book?” Sage held the dripping pages of a pocketbook slightly larger than her palm and was thoroughly delighted. A mystery from outside The Tear! She set off back home with a spring in her step, her worries momentarily forgotten, all thoughts focused on deciphering the mystery of the black book.

***

After leaving the book drying in front of the fire in her room, Sage had suffered through hours pouring over house ledgers with her father, who was determined turn her into a respectable business woman. The craft of her family - making beautiful jewellery from precious stones made smooth and polished in the crucible of the river - was reserved for men. The task of trading and business was left to the women. Initially this had filled Sage’s young mind with dreams of travel to new lands filled with adventure, until her father had abruptly disabused her of the notion, reciting The Tear law sternly:

"Two ways in,

Two ways out,

And not a soul from roundabout.

No strangers stay,

From far or near,

And none shall leave,

Not from The Tear.”

So a future of adventure had been reduced to a keyhole view, knowing of the world only through what was bought and sold, watching their work cross the river and nothing but essentials come back in. Until now. 

***

Finally set free and back in her room, Sage carefully picked up the strange black book, the dry pages crackling like old bones as she gently opened the first page. Faint grey streaks of what may have been writing had dribbled down the pages, resembling nothing more than zebra stripes. Frustrated, she began flipping through the pages, pushing the spine open further as she turned it this way and that, finally giving it a futile shake when a voice suddenly rang out in her mind:

Excuse me, could you stop doing that please? I can handle casual perusal but I do draw the line at shaking.

Sage yelped and spun about, the book flying from her fingers as she checked her room to see if her brother had crept in. The crackling fire in the hearth greedily sucked light from the dying sun disappearing below the window. All was silent.

Sage slowly approached where the book had fallen, advancing as if she were approaching a wild animal. Once again she opened the book to the first page and held her breath. The silence seemed to mock her and she let out an explosive sigh, laughing at herself. Shaking her head, she began to rise-

Are you calm? Human emotions confuse me, but you can look at the five stage process of Accepting Unusual Things to confirm. I believe you are at stage three.

Sage froze as the voice continued to mutter indistinctly. It was definitely coming from the book. She sank to the floor as the pages ruffled and turned of their own accord, stopping on a page that was filled with writing. More confused than ever and with her heart pounding in her chest, she read aloud:

“Accepting Unusual Things, as set down by Barthol in the year of Ten Kings. Steps one to five include: fear, denial, confusion, hysteria and madness.” Sage turned a few more pages and saw they were blank. “What are you?” She whispered.

I’m a repository of all written knowledge. Put simply, if it has been written, I know it. Where am I? There might be a spot of trouble following-

“Wait” Sage interjected, incredulous.”you're saying that you know every written thing? How many people are there in The Tear? What lies beyond Eastbridge?”

Two hundred souls at last census and three major kingdoms, one republic and lot of trouble, greed and idiots if you ask me. Now as I was saying, my previous-

Sage stood up, hands to her head, stunned. Determined to get more details, she plucked the book from the floor just in time to catch the last sentence: 

...which all things considered probably means they're coming here to kill you.

“Kill me?!”

Interlude

I am going to interject here to spare you the hysterics that followed this statement (stage four of Accepting Unusual Things, remember?) If there's a better way to deliver news of near certain slaughter it hasn't been written yet. Predictably, Sage didn’t listen and shoved the book - that's me, incase you're a little behind - into her pocket and rushed to find her father.

To clue you in on the backstory I attempted to give her, prior to the river incident I had been in the possession of some nefarious fellows. You know the sort: not a moral compass between them and a history of theft that had left bodies trailing across all three kingdoms. How I ended up in the river is another story for another time, but I was certain they would be coming for me and wouldn't hesitate to wreak havoc to recover the thing that had kept them out of the hangman's reach for so long.

Now fasten your seatbelts, Sage has reached her father's study and it’s about to get bumpy.

Sage

“Father, I need to speak with you immediately, I’ve found a-“

Sage looked up and came to an abrupt stop as she saw her father hand an old iron key to her brother, speaking low and hurriedly. Her brother strode swiftly from the room, pausing briefly to lay a hand on Sage's shoulder.

“Father, what's wrong?”

Her father strode to the window, no more than a silhouette framed by the last flare of the dying sun.

“Bandits have seized the bridges. They are making their way through the town, demanding the return of their property. A book, of all things.”

Sage's blood turned to ice. She crossed the room drawing the book out, but noticed that the glare of sunset was particularly lurid. Coming to her father's side, she looked out of the window and gasped. The town was burning. A path of destruction flowed from the bridges like a gruesome entourage, escorting a group of men who walked slowly towards the house as their lackeys threw flaming torches through windows as if they were tossing candy into a crowd on parade day.

“Sage, what is that?”

Sage dragged her eyes from the terrifying sight, turning back to her father and following his gaze down to the book in her hand.

“I found it this morning at Westbridge.” Sage said quickly, feeling her heart pound in her chest, her words becoming jumbled as she tried to explain. 

Hand me to him, Sage. We don't have much time and I've had way more practice delivering catastrophic news in a hurry.

Sage pushed the book into her father's hands and stepped back.  Emotions flitted silently across his face: shock, rage, sadness and, finally, resolution. He handed the book back to Sage and turned away from her.

“Sage, listen to me. Those men will be here soon, I sent your brother to fetch what weapons we have. But they must never retrieve that book. And so, Daughter, the adventure you sought finds you instead. You must escape The Tear. Tonight.”

He cupped her face in his large hands. Hands that had held and protected her all her life. Bewildered and terrified, she nodded.

“But Father where can I go? Why don't we just give the book to them? Why must I leave alone?” Tears streamed down Sage’s face onto her father’s fingers, the pain in his eyes mirroring her own. 

“Because I had a life outside The Tear, once. I travelled the Kingdoms and saw what these men can do. I got in their way once, to my eternal regret. So, book or no book, there is no way I can keep you safe. And i’ll be damned if they get that book or you while I can still stop them.”

It was as if the floor fell away and a gaping hole opened under Sage's feet. A life outside The Tear? She looked into her Father’s deep brown eyes and saw a stranger. A man with secrets and a life outside of the one he had rigidly kept her confined to. She drew back, shaking her head in disbelief just as her brother ran into the room awkwardly carrying two swords, daggers and a collection of leather armour. He stopped, surveyed the scene. 

“She knows?" Their father drew a deep breath, straightening as if from a great weight and nodded. “She knows. Quickly, hand me the sword. Give Sage one of the daggers, she'll need it.”

“Stop. STOP!” Sage yelled. Fear and panic thrummed through her veins, and the sting of betrayal set it alight. 

“How could you keep this from me. You both knew? Why?" That last word became a whisper, almost a whimper. Her father put a dagger in her hands, gripping them tightly.

“Because you are too like me. So full of dreams of the wider world. I had to protect you from it, from the pain and heartbreak I suffered. I lost your mother to it and I couldn't lose you. Now, too late, I understand the folly of my actions. I hope you will forgive me one day, but now you must leave.”

He let her go and shrugged into a studded leather vest. Pushing her into a smaller version, her brother did up the laces and threw a hooded clock around her shoulders. Strapping the dagger to her belt, he leaned close and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Sage, Sage, made for the stage” he whispered and she shot him a bewildered smile, too overwhelmed to speak. “Head for Westbridge” he continued. “Use the old nails to cross the river, I know you’ve mastered that already. Head straight for the forest. From there…” He trailed off, looking towards their father.

“I know of that accursed book. It should be able to lead you to the next town, Feybridge. Tell them what has happened, Sage, but make no mention of the book. Better destroy it than to tempt others with its power. Do you understand?"

Sage looked between her father and brother’s grim faces, standing ready to defend their home and her life, and straightened her shoulders. 

“I understand.”

There was a moment of silence as the three of them looked at each other, a lifetime of love, respect and loss wrapped up in a single frame. And just like that it was over. They strode from the room together, Sage exiting via the back door and her Father and Brother toward the front entrance.

***

Sage swiftly rounded the side of the house, creeping down the wall as she had done so often in her make believe adventures, except now it was so very real. She paused as she heard the front doors slam open, and peered around the raised porch to see three men stop in front of the house. She heard her father's voice indistinctly, and the answering bark of laughter from one the bandits.

“Well, what do you know, boys." The man called to his companions as more armed men arrived in the open square. “this is our lucky day. It’s none other than that wily bastard who nearly got us hung back in Jessup’s kingdom. Quite a nice trap you set for us that day. Though, I guess we came out even in the end didn't we, old man? Does your son know where we buried your wife?”

What little was left of Sage's world shattered in that moment. Her mind became painfully clear, all of her senses heightened and screaming at her to run. Her final glance behind showed her father and brother stood side by side on the steps of the house, weapons drawn, facing down the men who advanced towards them. Tearing herself away, she ran. The dash to Westbridge was a blur of fire, panic and screams. She reached the banks of the river and threw herself into the reeds at the bridge’s base before the bandits it could see her.

As her brother had guessed, Sage had made a game of using the rusted iron nails to swing across the running waters below, shielded from view by the overhang of the bridge itself. Praying that the men were more captivated by the town’s destruction, Sage leapt for the first iron nail protruding from the bridge. Before she could think too closely she started to swing between the nails, hoping the river would cover any noise. Arms trembling, Sage flung herself to the bank and collapsed into the wet, marshy reeds.

The forest was ahead of her, a dark patch of blackness against the twilight, but also easily visible was the roadway that skirted the forest edge, its pale stones releasing the heat of the sun. She’d never make it. Desperate, she shoved her hand into her pocket and felt the book, asking it furiously how to get out of this mess.

No need to yell I'm right here, metaphysically speaking. Go up the river a stretch, you’ll be out of sight of the men. Who knew someone had actually mapped this area. Not much to write home about but..oh now that's interesting…

Sage tuned out the book’s rambling, but kept it in her hand as she crept through the reeds, the buzzing in her ears a barrier to the laughter of the guards and the roar of the burning town. She finally reached the part where the curve of the road pushed almost to the river and without pausing for breath scrambled out of the marsh, across the road and into the cover of the forest, peering from behind a tree to see her home wreathed in smoke and flame. Heart breaking, she turned away and continued deeper into the forest, making it only as far as the first clearing where, wet and exhausted, she sank down onto a bed of bracken and let darkness drag her under.

***

...rhymes are a tear speciality. Something about the combination of living the end of the known world, virtual isolation and too much free time. It makes sense if you think about it. Who can recite all their laws off by heart? The original Tearsfolk were cunning old foxes. Make it rhyme or put it in a song and they couldn’t forget them even when they wanted to. See notes on The singing court when...ah you’re awake!

Sage emerged into wakefulness and knew one blissful moment of disorientation before it all came crashing back. When she finally opened her eyes the sun had fully risen and its warm light kissed the tear tracks that ran down her soot-streaked face. 

“What were you saying about singing?" She asked in an effort to distract herself, rising and trying to remove the forest from her face and clothes in the pre-dawn light. The stink of smoke and images burned into her memory would not be so easily removed.

While you were languishing in la-la-land I was brushing up on your history. The use of rhyme in The Tear is fantastic. Sage, Sage made for the stage-wasn't that what your brother said? 

Sage stopped fussing and stood still, the last memory of her family and severity of her situation descending like a heavy cloak onto her shoulders.

Uh…Too soon to mention the family? Right. Um, so you probably want to know the direction to Feybridge? Three days north through the forest, keeping the river to the right, there's a tributary ahead where you can wash and get water.

The book was an uncomfortable weight in her hand. Just a black book, she thought bitterly. She wanted nothing more than to throw it back into the river and pretend none of this had happened.

I do not support that course of action. Piped the book. It continued quietly. Sage, I am truly sorry this happened to you, but if you don’t get to Feybridge, those men will continue hurting Tearsfolk. I’ll help you, providing you keep me away from fast flowing waterways and bookworms.

She huffed out a breath that wasn't quite a laugh, and turned her face once more to the dappled sunlight. The book was right. Her first adventure certainly hadn't started well, but she would save her family and people if she could. Sage stood, book gripped in her right hand.

“Okay” she said with a deep breath. “which way to Feybridge?”

And we’re off! Keep the sun to your right, but we need to make a short detour. You'll never believe what this author left hidden in the forest…

An Ending

So began the journey of Sage of Tear. A journey that would change her world in ways she couldn’t yet imagine, helped and occasionally hindered by a charming black book. What was the detour for, I hear you ask? It turns out one of the bandits kept a private journal and decided to bury a significant sum of money in the forest. What for he never said, but it was a huge help when we made it to Feybridge. Pockets are never happy unless they're greased, I always say. Or someone did. How much was it worth? Well, where did you say you were from, again? Earth? Tough gig that place. The whole Pandora's box thing was not my fault okay? We changed ‘book’ to ‘box’ in all the literature to throw people off the scent and I exited world left pronto. Taking into account inflation, I suppose you could put the sum at around £20,000.