It was an accident
Prelude
Kori Ryuen
* * * * * * *
They were all very old, so old that their pages were a dark yellow, and they smelled like over ripened fruit. Books, these were the oldest books I had ever seen, older even than the legend of King Arthur, some of these dated back near the time of Christ.
Now, I am following after my teacher. As a second year book repair/Librarians Apprentice, I get the thrilling job of starting to copy whats in these books into another book that can then be passed on to someone else to see if they wish to purchase the copyright to begin to re-publish some of these works. If anyone knows anything about this kind of job, one would know that it is extremely tedious and boring for the most part; and that you are little more than labor.
But, this is my choice in life, because I do so love the worlds that some of these books illustrate with the way their words paint a picture.
"Now, Koreneth, you will be starting with some of these books" He indicated some moldy things that I doubt even still had distingiushable words "and move on to these ones that we just got. I'd be careful even turning pages, they look about to desintigrate."
Indeed, many of the books looked like they had been left in the rain for many years. "Yes Nigel, could you spare a pot of coffee from the main hall? I fear that these may take some time..." To this Nigel, my teacher smiled and set down the old five candled holder that he'd used to lead us here on a reading table. Since this building was rather old and we were scarse of funds, we had yet to actually impliment electricity or lights in the building. The shortage of funds if what was slowly robbing me of my spare time, and my life, as I worked in this dark little dungeon.
As he went off to fetch my coffee, I pulled up a ricketty chair and sorted through my first pile. Most of them were journals of one sort or another, some of them undoubtably taken from some poor soldiers that had died on a battle field in the war but a few years ago, some of military studies, and one flowery romance by the name 'December Daffidils'.
As I set sbout trying to gain as much light as I could from my five candles, a sparkle caught my eye from a pile on the next table. Since I'd have to get around to those in the near future, I stood to see what I had ahead of me. The book that cought my interest reflected none of the sparkle that I had thought I'd seen, so I checked each of the books; yet none of them had a cover that would show that it sparkled.
I sighed, "Yes, Coffee and another lamp, I do believe I am beginning to see things..." I sighed, before picking up the book that I had though sparkled. With patience I went back to my chair, setting down the book, and pulling out a re-write book to write down what I read.
With a longing look toward the stairs, I set about looking at what I was getting myself into, this new books cover was even worse and moth-eatin than the ones that I had looked at before. Opening the cover, my eyes saw the most peculiar sight. A page that contained the most extrordanary writing, a kind of cursive that I was un-familiar with. "What is blue-blazes?" I muttered before beginning to page through it.
Nigel chose this time to come down the stairs with a thermos of hot coffee and a smile, "I got you the good stuff, that American gent, Parker, made some with his private stash, brilliant stuff it is." He said plonking the stuff down on the table infront of me. I gave him an amused look.
"Hey Nig, take a look at this," I showed him the pages, "I have never even seen this kind of writing, where do you think it came from?" I asked, showing him the book.
Nigel took it, paging through it, "Damned if I know, it is however not my buiseness. Just leave it, I'll get Connels down here later to do it." He said. I nodded, rubbing the little bit of a beard that I was growing from forgetting to shave.
With that, we set about our own buiseness. Nigel left, and I started copying down the life of a young sargent who was in the trenches. I shuddered, reading how he told all of the grizzly details of the lives that he and his squad led before it abruptly ended just 40 entre's into it. "Must have had an accident with a German..." I speculated, closing the book and putting it in one pile before picking up another.
This continued for a few hours, I get through 3 more journals, two of which were from other soldiers and one from a woman who had secritorial duties and an alcaholic husband with five boys. I was saddened to read at the end that four of her sons died at once on a ship that had been sunk.
With a strange curiousity, I picked up the strange book again and began to leaf through it. I understood that it was a journal of some sort, the way it was formatted made it obvious, but it just didn't seem to be making sense. With a sigh, I went up to punch out after checking my watch, leaving the book.
* * * * * *
Some time later
* * * * * *
The book was a mystery to me, and to everyone else, so after a little weasleing I convinced them to let me have it, since it was at least interesting to look at.
And so it began to gather dust on my bookshelf, it was there when I married, when I had my three sons and one daughter, when they all left home, and enjoyed the 60's and 70's. It was even there after my wife died, and I slowly began to die aswell.
My grandson, a child born in the late 80's since Jonathan had married quite late, came to visit me one mid-summer day.
At the age of fourteen, the boy was maybe a little small for his age; he looked just like his grandmother, which on any other would have been wasted.
He was curious and sorted through my books, discovering the book that I had foregotten, and after a little bit of bribing, as he left that afternoon, he took with him the book.
If I knew what was about to happen I would never have allowed him to touch the thing.
Prelude
Kori Ryuen
* * * * * * *
They were all very old, so old that their pages were a dark yellow, and they smelled like over ripened fruit. Books, these were the oldest books I had ever seen, older even than the legend of King Arthur, some of these dated back near the time of Christ.
Now, I am following after my teacher. As a second year book repair/Librarians Apprentice, I get the thrilling job of starting to copy whats in these books into another book that can then be passed on to someone else to see if they wish to purchase the copyright to begin to re-publish some of these works. If anyone knows anything about this kind of job, one would know that it is extremely tedious and boring for the most part; and that you are little more than labor.
But, this is my choice in life, because I do so love the worlds that some of these books illustrate with the way their words paint a picture.
"Now, Koreneth, you will be starting with some of these books" He indicated some moldy things that I doubt even still had distingiushable words "and move on to these ones that we just got. I'd be careful even turning pages, they look about to desintigrate."
Indeed, many of the books looked like they had been left in the rain for many years. "Yes Nigel, could you spare a pot of coffee from the main hall? I fear that these may take some time..." To this Nigel, my teacher smiled and set down the old five candled holder that he'd used to lead us here on a reading table. Since this building was rather old and we were scarse of funds, we had yet to actually impliment electricity or lights in the building. The shortage of funds if what was slowly robbing me of my spare time, and my life, as I worked in this dark little dungeon.
As he went off to fetch my coffee, I pulled up a ricketty chair and sorted through my first pile. Most of them were journals of one sort or another, some of them undoubtably taken from some poor soldiers that had died on a battle field in the war but a few years ago, some of military studies, and one flowery romance by the name 'December Daffidils'.
As I set sbout trying to gain as much light as I could from my five candles, a sparkle caught my eye from a pile on the next table. Since I'd have to get around to those in the near future, I stood to see what I had ahead of me. The book that cought my interest reflected none of the sparkle that I had thought I'd seen, so I checked each of the books; yet none of them had a cover that would show that it sparkled.
I sighed, "Yes, Coffee and another lamp, I do believe I am beginning to see things..." I sighed, before picking up the book that I had though sparkled. With patience I went back to my chair, setting down the book, and pulling out a re-write book to write down what I read.
With a longing look toward the stairs, I set about looking at what I was getting myself into, this new books cover was even worse and moth-eatin than the ones that I had looked at before. Opening the cover, my eyes saw the most peculiar sight. A page that contained the most extrordanary writing, a kind of cursive that I was un-familiar with. "What is blue-blazes?" I muttered before beginning to page through it.
Nigel chose this time to come down the stairs with a thermos of hot coffee and a smile, "I got you the good stuff, that American gent, Parker, made some with his private stash, brilliant stuff it is." He said plonking the stuff down on the table infront of me. I gave him an amused look.
"Hey Nig, take a look at this," I showed him the pages, "I have never even seen this kind of writing, where do you think it came from?" I asked, showing him the book.
Nigel took it, paging through it, "Damned if I know, it is however not my buiseness. Just leave it, I'll get Connels down here later to do it." He said. I nodded, rubbing the little bit of a beard that I was growing from forgetting to shave.
With that, we set about our own buiseness. Nigel left, and I started copying down the life of a young sargent who was in the trenches. I shuddered, reading how he told all of the grizzly details of the lives that he and his squad led before it abruptly ended just 40 entre's into it. "Must have had an accident with a German..." I speculated, closing the book and putting it in one pile before picking up another.
This continued for a few hours, I get through 3 more journals, two of which were from other soldiers and one from a woman who had secritorial duties and an alcaholic husband with five boys. I was saddened to read at the end that four of her sons died at once on a ship that had been sunk.
With a strange curiousity, I picked up the strange book again and began to leaf through it. I understood that it was a journal of some sort, the way it was formatted made it obvious, but it just didn't seem to be making sense. With a sigh, I went up to punch out after checking my watch, leaving the book.
* * * * * *
Some time later
* * * * * *
The book was a mystery to me, and to everyone else, so after a little weasleing I convinced them to let me have it, since it was at least interesting to look at.
And so it began to gather dust on my bookshelf, it was there when I married, when I had my three sons and one daughter, when they all left home, and enjoyed the 60's and 70's. It was even there after my wife died, and I slowly began to die aswell.
My grandson, a child born in the late 80's since Jonathan had married quite late, came to visit me one mid-summer day.
At the age of fourteen, the boy was maybe a little small for his age; he looked just like his grandmother, which on any other would have been wasted.
He was curious and sorted through my books, discovering the book that I had foregotten, and after a little bit of bribing, as he left that afternoon, he took with him the book.
If I knew what was about to happen I would never have allowed him to touch the thing.