Windborne Memories

CHAPTER IV - Nature & Nurture

Our steps echoed as a musical dance beside waterdrops. When we reached below, in hushed voices we walked across a narrow underpass. The red runner under us silenced our steps like a symphony's decrescendo; but when the rug ended, footfalls in echoes resumed.

'Wait here,' said the old man as his torchlight drew away.

I made no response; but instead dreaded all ills and odds, evermore anxious with each second. Then, when all around me was as black and silent as night, with a sudden flicker, a large chamber shone before me, within which I realised I was. To this day, I have never seen with such grandeur. The stone walls were covered in curious banners or emblems which draped in old glory. There were portraits, landscapes, swords, axes, bows, arrows, scrolls, maps, and shelves upon shelves where myriads more books were laid. Above me, a candelabra chandelier swerved side to side with spider webs around its idle candles. The middle, however, accommodated a large circular wooden roundtable, covered in books, paper parchments, quills and inkwells, knives or daggers, iconic cards, as well as astrolabes, backstaffs, sundials and much more, laid around an hourglass which was placed in middle.

The old man's cane tapped the level limestone as he ambled over to a hearth and tossed his torch. Meanwhile, I drew closer to the candle which Leopold had ignited in distance; surrounded with several small mirrors which spread scattered across all four walls, secured in precise places. Perhaps due to angles or slopes, these mirrors seemed to expand candlelight a thousandfold and illumine an entire chamber.

'What is it you see, lad?' asked Leopold, now stood beside a dynamic hearth.

Though I did not understand his question at first, as my eyes scanned across his chamber's corners, I noticed an old alchemy table placed in some dim nook. I had never seen one before, but the alembics, retorts, funnels, scoops, aside numerous devices led to my conclude. However, the roundtable in the middle where an old map laid seemed to absorb me most. Leopold came over while I examined.

'This,' Leopold tapped his cane on the map, 'is our world.'

'Our world?'

'Yes, lad; our world,' and pulled a chair beside where I stood; I mirrored him.

He pulled the map closer, drumming his fingers where a small set of isles had been drawn beside larger lands and islands covering more mass.

'This is where we are, Windborne; and beside our island are three others,' and continued to indicate the map, now with his index.

'What are these other isles,' I asked, ambitious to know more.

His eyes locked with mine a second, flicked back on the map, and he began to indicate each island as he announced their names: 'This isle here's called Framecrest, a volcanic isle with small settlements. This one's Oceanus, where many rivers cascade across its landmass. This over here's Terra Nova, famous for its fragrant soil. Then we have Windborne, where winds breeze harsh across all seasons. The only unclaimed lands in our world which compose some miniscule archipelago,' his eyes shone in wonder as his words ended.

'How did we come to be here?' I wondered aloud; mystified over the world's origins, more importantly, my role within it.

The old man looked onto me with solemn eyes, and with a breath let loose, 'when I was a young fellow like you, war knocked on our door. We had to leave all, our lands, our homes, our lives behind. We were pawns played in another's game, lad.' Leopold exposed a sudden smile which vanished in seconds, then rose, and ambled around his roundtable as he observed his odds and ends laid on top.

'Long ago, in an unremembered era, a king ordered his advisor to discover the history of mankind. His advisor having heeded his king, voyaged across lands and seas, and arrived back some years later. When the king inquired about what he had uncovered, his advisor placed all his discoveries before him as paper upon paper in several piles. The king, who deemed his discoveries too dense, ordered him to resume his search and to return only once he had reached a concise conclusion. Years more passed until his advisor returned. Now with new answers which he had condensed as one book, he handed over his discoveries. But with a quick peep, the king was soon resolved and said his discoveries were still complex, and once more ordered his advisor to renew his search. His orders were now to return only when he had reached a condensed conclusion; one which held a universal truth. His advisor, obeying his king, voyaged once more across all horizons, committed to accomplish his command. Years passed with no news. His advisor had vanished, and in due course, presumed dead. And so, as does for us all, death knocked upon the old king's door who remained unanswered. But as he laid on his deathbed where his household surrounded, his advisor summoned in sudden. Bemused to see him, the king seemed more surprised to see his empty hands, probing him on his discoveries. His advisor, now old and weary like his king, exclaimed how across all his search, as he condensed his discoveries more and more, all amounted as one phrase; a phrase so small, so concise, which required no paper. When the king inquired upon his conclusion, his advisor responded: 'They came. They killed. They went.' The old man looked upon me with a sad gaze and said, 'This is human history, lad. Nothing more, nothing less,' and ambled back to his chair beside me.

I was shocked. Leopold's tale showed a grim simplicity behind human history which was shown under a bleak light. But before I could properly absorb, Leopold leaned in closer and said, 'Once a week, lad, I will lend you a book. You will read each book, and swap with another each week,' the old man's creased smile resumed, as an inexplicable wisdom shone in his eyes. 'Folks around here are uneducated. Many came to escape war, but soon sank in deep isolation. The schooled learn simple alphabets or agriculture, but nothing else. Their lives are on loop, their minds enslaved, each bound to echo their forefather's mistakes. But I'll teach you all I know. What you do with such knowledge will be your burden and yours alone, boy.' Leopold smiled once more. He led me towards his bookshelves, and upon a browse, grabbed one book, and extended his arm over, 'This'll open your eyes on what's to come, lad.'

The book which gazed at me with its unusual aesthetics was called: Niccolo Machiavelli's The Prince.