Droplets from the Inkwell

Writing Quickie: The Manuscript

This Writing Quickie got away from me, but I still like it.

Andrus walked swiftly down the hallway of the abbey, his clerical robe rustling as he did so. He hugged the five century old codex he had been copying to him. As he arrived at the door to Mother Waltraud’s office, he adjusted his grip so he could knock with one hand. The head of his order’s voice was muffled by the oak panel. “Yes, come in.”

The Mother Superior looked up from her writing as he walked into the door and stood a few feet from her oversized desk. She set down her pen and remained silent, as if waiting for him to speak. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Mother.”

“You are one of my most devoted monks, Brother Andrus, normally quite content to do your work in quiet solitude. If you have found a reason to come see me unbidden, I have no doubt that it is a good one. So what’s on your mind?”

“Yes, Mother. Well, I was working on making a new copy of this manuscript,” he said, holding it out from his body to allow her to see it. “It’s a collection of sayings from the Sixth Prophet.”

“Ah yes, the Sixth Prophet, Louhi. I’ve read a few collections of her sayings. Well, worth preserving, I think.”

“Yes, Mother. I agree. Of course, all sacred texts are worth preserving, are they not.”

Waltraud smiled slightly. “Yes, I suppose so. That’s certainly the basis of our order’s mission to preserve and copy such texts. Though personally, I think some are far superior to others and therefore worthy of even greater care. But I doubt you came here to discuss the merits of our mission. Was there a problem with the manuscript.”

Andrus blinked, surprised by the question and how near the Mother cut to the truth. “Well, if I may show you what I found.” She gestured her approval and he came around her desk, setting down the codex and opening to his page. He pointed to a group of characters on the current page. “If I am translating this correctly, the Six Prophet declared those of the Akemian race to be our brethren.”

The Mother’s eyes scanned the indicated section of the manuscript. “Yes, I read it the same way you have.”

“But doesn’t church teach that they are our slaves, as the Lords of Light intended?”

“That is the teaching you will likely hear at the parish down the street, or proclaimed from the Holy City.”

“I don’t understand, Mother. How can this be?”

Waltraud pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from a drawer and handed her pen to the monk. “Draw the symbol in this manuscript that you render as brother.” Andrus accepted the pen and did so. “Very good. Now if you know it, draw the symbol for slave in the same language.” Andrus drew another, nearly identical symbol. “Tell me, Andrus, can you tell the difference between these two symbols?”

“Yes, Mother. The symbol for brother has an extra horizontal line right here,” he said, pointing.

“Would it take much for a careless transcriptionist to forget that line when copying this manuscript, thus changing its meaning.”

“But Mother Waltraud, I would never be so careless.”

She laughed at that. “No, you definitely would not. You were quite possibly the easiest monk to train for this task. And I suspect that your brothers and sisters would not make such a mistake at this point. Our order tends to be very strident in teaching you to care for the work we do.

“But we are not the only people who copy such texts, and not everyone shares our deep commitment to such detail.”

“So, some manuscripts might actually have the other symbol in them?”

“Two copies of this same manuscript that are kept in the lesser library of this abbey, have just that mistake in them. So this is more than a hypothetical possibility.”

Andrus wrinkled his brow. “So, how do we know that those are the copies with the mistake in them and this one is correct.”

“For starters, those copies were made a good two centuries after this particular manuscript was made.”

“So an older manuscript is assumed to be more valid?”

“To an extent, but it’s more than that. When did you say this codex was made?”

“According to the annotations inserted in the front, five centuries ago.”

“When did the Sixth Prophet live?”

“Five centuries ago.” Andrus’s eyes lit up as comprehension hit. “You mean?”

“Yes, this codex was written by Louhi herself. It is the original. Check the authorial marks for yourself, if you wish.”

“I believe you. But shouldn’t we say something then? I mean, the Church is teaching something that is clearly in error.”

The Mother sighed. “That would be a mistake. Those in charge -- especially those in the Holy City -- are far too vested in the error.”

“But surely they would take the words of the Sixth Prophet seriously.”

“My dear Andrus, you are a faithful man, loyal to both the prophets and your notion of good scholarship. Sadly, those are not traits shared by many who prefer the power that religious rule gives them. They are far too comfortable with their Akemian slaves and the lavish lifestyle those slaves make possible. They would not take kindly to anyone who would challenge that. Even all fourteen of the Prophets.”

“So, you feel they would ignore the discovery.”

“Worse. I think they would try to cover up the discovery. Even by destroying the manuscript you so lovingly carried into my office.”

Andrus recoiled in horror. “Surely not!”

“I’m afraid it’s true. Are you familiar with The Sermon of the Eighth Prophet by the Sea?”

“I’ve heard of it, yes.”

“In the original manuscript, a vellum scroll, The Eight Prophet made a similar declaration, which was later mistranslated. One of our order discovered the mistake, and with the same zeal you now show presented her discovery to the world. The Most Holy Priest sent men from the Holy City to ‘investigate.’ They declared the scroll a forgery and burned it. Then they set about destroying any copies based on the ‘forgery.’”

“That’s horrible, Mother!”

“Indeed, I was heartbroken at the time.” She indicated an ornate wooden box on the corner of her desk. “I’ve kept the ashes of that scroll with me since to remind myself what happens when the truth contradicts the proclivities of those in power.”

“You were the monk?”

“I was. So listen to me well, my son. Cherish this codex, make a perfect copy of it. Then make a second perfect copy of it for your personal collection. Don’t object. I say this is permitted in this case, and I know the other heads of our order would agree.

“But once those copies are made, carefully tuck this codex back in it’s spot so it may stay well preserved, and speak nothing of what you learned about it to those outside our order. In fact, be careful with whom you share this discovery inside our order. Otherwise, you may find yourself crying over the ashes of something you cherished.”

Andrus nodded. “Very well, Mother. I just have one more question. What about the Akemians? I mean, they’re slaves and should not be.”

Waltraud sighed and nodded. “I have no good answer for you there. It haunts me to know that we hide the words of the Prophets that would end the suffering of others. If I thought that revealing this information would free them, I might even consider the destruction of the manuscripts worth it.” The monk’s jaw fell open. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. As much as I believe in our mission, I believe the well-being of and justice for others is more important. But truth be told, revealing these texts at this time will not change things for the Akemians. I think we need to find other ways to agitate for their freedom and hopefully obtain it. I’m thankful that many in our church are doing exactly that, and I do whatever I can to support them. I suggest you do the same.”

Andrus nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Mother. Thank you.” He picked up the codex and walked to the door. He paused. “Mother Waltraud?”

“Yes, Andrus?”

“Do you think there will come a day when we can reveal the truth and enjoy brotherhood with the Akemians?”

“I pray for it every night, my son. I also pray that the Akemians will some day want to see us as their brethren, too.”

“Yes, I can see where that may be the hardest part. Good night.”

“Good night, young monk.” With that, she picked up her pen and resumed her writing. Andrus left her office deep in thought.

JarredH

Give me pen and paper and I shall create entire worlds and fill them with adventures.