Foreign Songs [Stefan]

[Finn]

The Academy Archives
72nd of Frost, Year 121 AS

Finn was still rather surprised that Lyra was willing to pay him to read in the archives, and more than he made performing. In many ways, working at Ale'Ephirum—or remotely like this—was paying for his musical habit. There was some Zaichaeri dignitary being given a tour, which made Finn nervous, but then they didn't appear to be taking him where Finn was going, or else they had already been.

He settled into a carrel with a couple of items that had been put on hold for him. Time was funny in the dim of the archives where natural light was kept to a minimum to protect the more delicate parts of the collection. The Zaichaeri man was out of his mind by the time his tour ended and he was allowed to roam the stacks on his own. Perhaps it was kismet when he opened one of the tomes only to find that it was written in Kathalan—at least, he thought it was Kathalan. That was not a language he had studied, preferring the mystique of more ancient tongues and the lores long gone.

With a sigh, he started taking notes anyway. Wherever there was something that might be a cognate, he wrote it down. There weren't enough that he was going to be able to read and understand the text, but language was a puzzle, and each language had its own music. Perhaps he would eventually master all the languages; at least he knew how to pronounce words in Kathalan since he knew a few songs in the language and had an idea of what he was singing about.

"Die Sänger waren mächtig..." he said slowly, and it sounded almost like he was speak-singing.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Access to the archives, even under the supervision of his 'tour guide', was a dream. Stefan had dreamed, literally and figuratively, of being able to peruse the famed information depository of Kalzasi. If things went the way they had been planned, he might have more exclusive access in the not too distant future, but the world was not a place to make plans on 'if's, so he would take what he could get today.

He was not dressed in a uniform, nor even a suit that would have given away his nationality immediately. Some of his clothing was of a similar type to that worn in Kalzasi, and he had invested in a thick cloak almost as soon as he'd arrived. Even with his warm Frost coat, the more northern city was on a whole other level of cold than Stefan was used to.

The tour went as expected, a lot of hand waving and diplomatic speeches poorly veiled as informative in intent. At the end, the man who had shown him around seemed genuinely surprised when Stefan asked where he could find a quiet place to read for the afternoon. He had an appointment with Brenner at a theatre in the evening, but that was hours away and what was the point of visiting a library unless you read?

The flustered attendant had taken him around until he'd found an empty reading nook, barely large enough to be called a room, and then, gathering himself, offered to show him the system they used to organize. This second, much more useful, tour, took about half an hour, and left Stefan with four books he badly wanted to sit down with for several days. He had learned to skim for what was important very early in his childhood, so, the hours he had would be enough, even if they left him hungry. Settling down as though entirely comfortable, he figured, if the attendant wanted to sit and watch him the entire time, so be it.

An hour later he looked up from his study, blinking owlishly, to realize the man had, at some point, fucked off. The book he had been pouring over had made a reference to something that was apparently supposed to be common knowledge to those reading it but which was not known at all to him. There was a listing of the book in which the study in question was published, so he could find it... perhaps. Standing up, and unexpectedly wishing his guide had not disappeared he cautiously left the little nook, hoping he understood the cataloging system well enough to find the book he wanted, and that, once done, he could find his way back.

Down the hallway he was thinking he just might remember where the section on biological studies was when he heard a voice speaking what might pass for Kathalan in Kalzasi. It sounded almost like a line from a poem and he drew carefully closer. He looked every inch the scholar, from his disarrayed hair from running his hand through it, to the ink smudging his fingertips from taking notes. He had long since removed his cloak and coat and was now in a thick sweater and trousers that might have belonged to almost any social class.

Stepping closer, hoping that perhaps he could trade assistance with a passage in one of his two native languages for help finding the book he said,

"Excuse me, I was wondering if you might help me? I haven't been here before and one of the books I was studying referenced another. I'm still learning the system, but if you could aid me I would greatly appreciate it."

[Finn]

Finn heard the percussion of footsteps, and tuned more than his ears to hear the symphony that accompanied them. He was a bit more flighty than he had been before Ash, but at least he only froze, tasted the emotions around him, and imagined escape routes through the slipspace instead of worse reactions. His own heartbeat accelerated, though he forced himself to breathe slowly. There were dark undertones to the symphony, but mostly it was curious and ever so slightly frustrated. There was no menace or malice, and that helped him sidestep a panic.

They didn't always happen, which was almost worse. He didn't know what would set him off.

He managed to smile when he looked up, pairing the handsome face with the bassoon that took the melody. He saw the path he had walked through space lit up in the slipspace, and marveled at his new ability.

"Ja, sicher," he said, mind still attempting to think in what little he knew of Kathalan. His pronunciation wasn't terrible; it just seemed as though he couldn't decide if he was speaking or singing. "Of course." He set one of the acid-free slips of paper between the pages to mark his place and stood up, stretching until his spine snap, crackled, and popped. Now that he spent so much of his free time here, he had apparently developed the look of someone who knew what he was looking for, even if people occasionally glanced askance at his blacksmith build. It didn't bother him to help; it was gratifying for the village boy to be a bit of an expert in the categorization of such vast amounts of knowledge.

"I'm Finn. What can I help you find?"

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Finn's build didn't even cross Stefan's mind, he had grown up in a society where most men had spent at least some time in the military, and being strong or fit did not mean your mind wasn't just as fit. He himself had gotten a few odd looks for his physique that he had attributed to his status of a foreigner without a second thought.

He blinked in surprise at the words in Kathalan but, feeling it would be rude to ask, he did not comment.

"My name is Stefan. Do you speak Kathalan? My mother's people speak it so I grew up with it." He hoped this wouldn't immediately cause Finn to frown upon him. If it did, he hoped the man was at least politely enough to still help him find the book.

"What are you working on, if I may ask?"

The two wound their way through the somewhat confusing corridors of books and reading areas, Stefan trying to remember so he could find his way back if he managed to offend his guide. His mind kept catching on interesting sections or titles, trying to pull him away from his current course of interest into others. Accepting that he had only that one afternoon of access and needed to use it for the betterment of his people was more difficult than he'd imagined it would be. Perhaps, in time, he might get more.

The dreams he held associated with Kalzasi were not made of blood and fire, but freedom and cooperation. This human man would be free to climb as high as he wanted in the echelons of society without the crystal ceiling above which only Avialea could fly. The thought made him feel both a kinship and an almost protective feeling toward Finn. If only he could tell the common people that their shackles would soon be broken.

[Finn]

"Stefan," he repeated back, tasting the name as a singer and a linguist would. "Ah, no, sadly. I came to the Academy to study music, but along the way, I picked up a passion for linguistics and history." They were walking away from his studies now, but he didn't mind sharing. I'm picking up Vallenor, but I've at least learned how to pronounce Kathalan so I can sing it. Perhaps someday, I'll learn to speak it properly. 'Tis interesting how the differences in language shape the way we think. Anyway, I was just looking over some histories and one of them turned out to be in Kathalan..."

He had a paper that Stefan had given him to guide them, and Alchemy was close enough to the section of History where he had been—namely Magical History. While he didn't understand the protective vibrations coming from the man, they were better than violent ones, and at least the gratitude rang true. Finn was happy to be helpful, and he didn't have anything in particular against a Zaichaeri person in general; it was just that there were a handful of specific ones who he feared.

"Oh, here's one of them," he said, pulling a brick of text from the shelf and holding it out to the man. It seemed like a catch-all, a textbook or similar. "Alchemy, eh?" He wasn't sure whether he ought to suggest Master Jacun's. He knew Torin had a friend who worked there, but that friend was elven so he didn't know if Zaichaeri customers would be entirely welcome. He supposed he could wait it out and see. Once Stefan took the book, he crouched to look on a lower shelf for the next one on the list. They ought to all be right around here, but he didn't know if Zaichaeri libraries used the same cataloging system as the Archives did. This was the only real library Finn had ever been to.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Neither linguistics nor history were Stefan's forte, and music, aside from appreciation of it, was right out of his bailiwick. He knew history, of course, from school, but his only real linguistic gift was that he'd been raised in a multi-lingual household.

Scholarship, however, was firmly embedded in the core of him. It was obvious that this man felt the draw to study, to know , and that created a kinship, however tentative and temporary.

"Sadly, I am no linguist, but my mother spoke Kathalan to us at home, so it's hardly even a second language really."

The idea that someone could sing phonetically without understanding what they were saying was, for a moment, deeply intriguing. Like most ideas that had never occurred to Stefan before; his mind grasped at it, examined it, did not see any immediately applicable value to it, but tucked it away in case it would be useful later.

He took the book, delighted that it was available, as soon as Finn offered it. Forcing himself not to open it and begin looking up the references he answered the implied question.

"I am no alchemist, but I have a grounding in chemistry. There is an overlap between them, though not so great as people might assume on the basis of their names.

"An alchemist here in the city recommended some texts to me when I visited his shop. They might not be available back home, at least, not as readily as they would be in this library, so I took the afternoon I am allowed to indulge."

Tucking the book under his arm he said,

"Your help is very much appreciated. Could I perhaps be of aid in your own study? My translation would be that of a speaker, not a scholar, but sometimes personal context is useful."

[Finn]

"Ha!" he laughed softly. "I suppose alchemy and chemistry have about as much in common as speaking a language fluently and being able to pronounce it without really knowing what one's saying." But he found himself grinning, which was strange given his irrational yet understandable emotional reactions to Zaichaeri people. He was really going to have to work on that because Stefan seemed like a nice enough fellow, his symphony careful, thoughtful, steady, and soothing.

"Well, if you only have the afternoon, I don't want to take up too much of your time, but if you can help with a page or two, it ought to be enough for me to know whether I should pay to have it translated entirely. Ah... they will do that here for a fee. They will also copy out documents in part or entirely for a fee, so if you keep track of which parts most interest you, and you have the coin to spare, you can write to the archivists and they will do so... and send it to you. I mean, if you can't find a copy when you return home." He paused. "Well, let's get the rest of these from your list..."

Expediting that would expedite both their studies.

"All right, it looks like there's just the second to last one that isn't here. You can ask at the returns desk to see if someone was looking at it or if it is checked out. Some people have check-out privileges."

That said, he carried a couple of the books for the man back to the carrel where he was working. He opened up his book once more to where he had left it marked, but remained standing so they could both pore over it together.

"I'm researching this old order of musicians called the Leh'anafel. Vallenor for the Singers—I know, not very creative. Anyway, I just thought a story ballad about them might elevate the role of artists in society. Self-serving, I suppose.".

[Stefan Dornkirk]

The comparison was an interesting one, and Stefan managed a strong smile for it at least, with laughter in his voice as he said,

"Indeed." It was always easier to joke about things when he knew he wasn't the butt of the amusement. Motioning Finn to lead them on, back to the little alcove he'd been working in he nodded.

"I would enjoy assisting. I don't get to do much outside my profession since I left school. It helps keep me grounded to branch out on occasion."

The advice about having the parts of the books he needed copied was useful. It surprised him, but perhaps it should not have, Kalzasi had always been free with knowledge, no matter how dangerous or inflammatory. Some information should be available to everyone, but some was not safe for the general public and should be regulated only to those who had the education to understand it, as well as the proven sense to apply it. In this case, however, it would prove useful to Stefan, so he wasn't going to step on any toes or mention his arguments as to the prolifically dangerous practice.

When they arrived back he, after asking, took a seat at the work table and began glancing over the pages, eyes easily scanning over the Kathalan phrases as he listened to Finn explain the context. There were a few unfamiliar words but his mind was able to work around their meanings based on context and a fluent understanding of the language.

"Here," Turning the book into a position they could both read it he pointed to a new word, "I am afraid you might have to pay for those translations, I think this might be the Kathalan word for your Leh'anafel. At least, it means Singers, sort of. It isn't the normal word for it. It might be anyway. It doesn't translate directly but it's sort of like 'Makers of Music-Magic'. I've never seen it before."

[Finn]

Finn remained close, poring over the pages as Stefan did, though he was careful not to crowd him. He didn't know what the idea of personal space meant in Zaichaer, and of course, he was still trying to keep his anxiety under control. The man smelled good; he hadn't expected that. In any case, he put it out of his mind as he tried to wrap his mind around any words that he might translate by context or cognate. But in the end, the man affirmed his fears—about the text, anyway; not violence.

"Ahh, it figures," he said. "I had rather expected that. Written in old Kathalan about an order that largely spoke ancient Vallenor..." He sighed but he was smiling; it was a touch rueful, but not terribly upset. "I like the puzzles, though. Figuring things out. I didn't get much schooling beyond the basics as a boy, so I didn't realize I would appreciate scholarly pursuits so much. I didn't even come to the Academy to become a scholar..."

He felt his mouth about to run off without him, so he made a conscious effort to bring things to a close.

"Well, I appreciate your help. You can consider your debt paid in full." He smiled. Stefan's easy manner made it easier to tamp down his panic. "I suppose I ought to let you go since you only have the afternoon to yourself. You're welcome to find a carrel around here. It tends to be quiet and I won't bother you further."

Finn was fine with saying farewell. If nothing else, a positive interaction with a Zaichaeri might just help him move on. And anyway, he might have to fork over the coin to have the one book translated, but he had several other things to read while he was here.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

"Mmm," Stefan murmured, still pouring over the book they were both examining, "Me too. Puzzles; an intellectual challenge, I think it feels to me like a race or something similar must feel like to other men. Only it's just me and the information, no one to beat and no loser, just me, the winner. Assuming I can figure it out."

He did laugh quietly at this last, glancing over at Finn to see a similar shine of desire in his eyes. Many men learned for advancement, or financial stability, and there was honor to be found in both kinds, but it was a rare thing that Stefan work with someone who enjoyed the work for itself.

"Is this for your work, if you don't mind me asking?" Perhaps Finn was doing it for a job, but that need not mean he did not enjoy it. He raised his eyebrows at the idea that the man, who had not received much of an education, was now burying himself deep into a very complex puzzle indeed. It made Stefan's admiration all the greater. He himself had received every advantage, and tried to use what he'd been given as much as possible, but here was someone who, starting with little, was building themselves up anyway.

Pulling back enough to sit up properly from where he'd been hunching over the book a little he made a few notes that would hopefully be useful to the next man who attempted translation.

"Oh, what did you come for?"

The conversation was beginning to flow comfortably between them, so he was a bit saddened when Finn reminded him that he should be pursuing his own intent, with what little time he had.

"I suppose I'll have to have copies made of these." He gestured to the books Finn had helped him find, "I'll never get through them in an afternoon."

Standing, he straightened his jacket and then held out his hand to shake.

"I am glad it was you who I wandered into. Thank you, and, if you ever want a native eye on any of those translations," Here he reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his card, "I'd be happy to hear how you're coming along."