12 Ash, 121
As his mind went through the memories of his first steps toward where he currently sat, in a library reading a book on the rise and fall of the Clockwork Empire, he squirmed a little. His budding understanding of the written word had been the catalyst that led him to much harder kinds of knowing. What shame felt like, what forced submission did to the psyche and the soul. The first pieces of his innocence being chipped away with a casualness that had menaced him far beyond the end of the experience. Like a chef glazing a cake, the dispassionate manner in which his childhood had been broken open sank into his understanding of everything, became a cornerstone of his self-awareness.
Rivin did not want to think about it, did not want to remember, but it was starting, and his choice now lay between resisting it until he lay in bed trying to sleep, or letting it come now, as he read, and hoping that his mind would become distracted by the book, or, at least wouldn't scatter his comprehension of it so badly he had to re-read it later. If he waited, dreams would come, and they would not stop with the reality of the situation, he might be caught in them the whole night through, suffering the agony of having the reality of helplessness forced upon him as a constant pressure over his mind until he woke, sweating and thrashing into the mercy of morning.
He let it go. It was the better option, the longer he fought it the more likely he would be caught in it. If he was lucky his mind would wander and find itself elsewhere. Arranging himself in the chair so he had his back to neither the door nor the windows and as much of the back half of his as possible was covered by some part of the chair, he let the reins on his mind go loose and tried to ignore the havoc they caused while he wasn't watching.
~~~~
His reading lessons continued into understanding simple sentences, then longer ones. Into grammar and sentence structure. Without books, his understandably relied purely on his mother's understanding, which, while good, he would later come to realize, as with many of her lessons, was personal by her understanding of the world. She had lived, existed in a certain way, as everyone did, and this caused hidden flaws in her perception of what she experienced. Rivin would later learn that everyone had these secret pitfalls, that, if found, they could be exploited, widened, or narrowed to the advantage of the one who saw them. The people who had them were rarely able to see them, even when they were pointed out and were almost never appreciative when for the experience either.
That Rivin himself must have them sat heavy in him and he tried with all his mental might to find and close the gaps wherever he could. He could not know what he did not know. Not unless he sought things that he had no way to know. Libraries were exceptionally good places to do this, but at five, almost six, he had no notion of what a library even was. His mother had explained to him what a book was, and he recalled seeing what had probably been books the two times he'd been taken to see Dr. Ilex.
The fetus of a plan implanted itself into his mind, when he thought about Dr. Ilex's books. It felt clever and powerful; it made his skin grow hot as though it needed to let action out.
But he was not called to the doctor again. not for many months. In that time he grew taller, put weight on his skinny frame, he began to feel just better, overall. His mother told him, when he asked, that this was because he was eating more kinds of foods. This was one of her gaps in knowledge; understanding vitamin deficiencies. In a way, she had been right, and it had encouraged Rivin to try all the kinds of food that came to them in that little room.
They did not spend all their time in the room, unlike they had in the cell. Sometimes, a few times a week, guards would come and escort them from the room, through the house, to an inner courtyard. It was large, more than an acre, almost entirely covered in grass kept well short, with a few trees, around the edges. When Rivin first saw it he thought it must be half the whole Imperium. He'd also fought not to throw up as he stepped out, trying not to tremble and cling to his mother, into the yard. It was open to the sky, though he had already learned the folly of looking directly upwards, and his time spent with the little window, which had given him a much clearer understanding of day and night, there was nothing that could prepare the little cave-dweller for the infinity of space above.
Later, in their room, when it was dark and quiet, he had asked his mother if the sky was infinite, though he did not know the word and had said something like 'never stops going'. She had said that the sky eventually became the realm of the gods. This answer had belayed his fear of falling up forever, but added a whole new set of questions which she had been unable to answer, to his great frustration. She had fallen asleep while he fumed, but by the next time they were allowed outside, he felt brave enough to sink his little feet into the grass.
It felt amazing. There was no way for him to describe how it felt. It was wholly new a paragon that would be the way he described other things, but itself defying all description. His mother had watched him with amusement and then darted past him on her slim, strong legs, taking great, graceful, leaping strides away to the other side of the green space. Rivin had never been so far away from his mother while he could still see her and having her whisk away as such a speed had alarmed him. Thankfully, another part of him had grown excited and his body responded by instinct, stretching out to run after her.
He had stumbled and fallen, but it wasn't the first time he'd ever fallen, and the grass was a good deal softer than the stone floor of their cell, so he hopped right back up and kept on. He chased her, falling often at first as his muscles acclimated to the new speed and texture of the ground. He never could catch her, not until she saw the guards coming to take them back inside and let him, but the afternoon was still a bright thing of laughter and movement that felt like freedom.
Rivin had never felt particularly like a slave, but Rivin had also never understood that there was a different state of being. Now, as he settled back into his room for an evening of learning more about sentences, he missed the bright space. His mind wandered and he could hardly pay attention as the sun set outside the window. Finally, his mother asked him where his mind was and he asked her if the sky went away with the sun. Her brows had perked and she had explained that the sky was still there at night, only dark and black instead of bright and blue, with little stars dotting the black. She reminded him about stars. He tried hard not to imagine a vast and infinite darkness hovering, heavy like a thousand blankets, directly over the room. His mother had given up by the time dinner was brought, and left him to his own thoughts until it was time for bed.
The next time they were allowed out into the yard another pair were already there, also a mother and son. They were dressed similarly to Rivin and his mother, in flowing, light clothing. The child was a bit larger than Rivin was, but he wasn't sure if that made him older, or only a different race. They did not look Lysanrin, and something about the way Rivin's mother's walk became prouder, her shoulders higher, told him that she believed they held higher status than this other mother and child. His mother did not play chase games with him, instead going over to the other mother and speaking quietly with her. This left Rivin to approach the boy. He spoke Common, but with an accent Rivin had not heard from the guards or Dr. Ilex.
Not knowing entirely what to do with the first other child he'd ever seen Rivin just stood for a few minutes, watching. The other boy did the same. Rivin asked if the other boy had met any other children. The boy nodded but did not answer him out loud. Rivin asked how many other children the boy had met. The boy shrugged. Rivin felt quite like pushing the other boy so that he fell down, but did not think that his mother would be pleased, and that perhaps even the guards would take them back to their room, so he did not. Instead, he caught the other child's eye and asked him if he liked to run and if he might like to run to the trees. The shrug came again but the movements of his body showed that he was ready to leap into motion. So, Rivin started running. The boy followed.
The afternoon became a game of races, in which there were no clear goals, end markers, or winners. They were well-matched, for while the other boy was taller, Rivin had been trained since he'd been barely old enough to walk in strengthening his body. It made Rivin wonder what other things this boy's mother had taught him, since she had not done the same lessons his mother had. He asked, but the other boy seemed to be only very confused, so they went back to running. By the end, Rivin was thirsty but otherwise fine. The other boy was breathing very heavily and sweating through his clothes. Rivin thought he might be defective, but did not say so. If he could not pass the tests he would be disposed of along with all the other children that had failed, and, looking at him, Rivin thought this was likely. He did not say this either, only went to his mother when she called for him, stepping lightly to her side and glancing back, as they made their way inside, at the other mother, wondering if she would be sad when her son was gone.
As his mind went through the memories of his first steps toward where he currently sat, in a library reading a book on the rise and fall of the Clockwork Empire, he squirmed a little. His budding understanding of the written word had been the catalyst that led him to much harder kinds of knowing. What shame felt like, what forced submission did to the psyche and the soul. The first pieces of his innocence being chipped away with a casualness that had menaced him far beyond the end of the experience. Like a chef glazing a cake, the dispassionate manner in which his childhood had been broken open sank into his understanding of everything, became a cornerstone of his self-awareness.
Rivin did not want to think about it, did not want to remember, but it was starting, and his choice now lay between resisting it until he lay in bed trying to sleep, or letting it come now, as he read, and hoping that his mind would become distracted by the book, or, at least wouldn't scatter his comprehension of it so badly he had to re-read it later. If he waited, dreams would come, and they would not stop with the reality of the situation, he might be caught in them the whole night through, suffering the agony of having the reality of helplessness forced upon him as a constant pressure over his mind until he woke, sweating and thrashing into the mercy of morning.
He let it go. It was the better option, the longer he fought it the more likely he would be caught in it. If he was lucky his mind would wander and find itself elsewhere. Arranging himself in the chair so he had his back to neither the door nor the windows and as much of the back half of his as possible was covered by some part of the chair, he let the reins on his mind go loose and tried to ignore the havoc they caused while he wasn't watching.
~~~~
His reading lessons continued into understanding simple sentences, then longer ones. Into grammar and sentence structure. Without books, his understandably relied purely on his mother's understanding, which, while good, he would later come to realize, as with many of her lessons, was personal by her understanding of the world. She had lived, existed in a certain way, as everyone did, and this caused hidden flaws in her perception of what she experienced. Rivin would later learn that everyone had these secret pitfalls, that, if found, they could be exploited, widened, or narrowed to the advantage of the one who saw them. The people who had them were rarely able to see them, even when they were pointed out and were almost never appreciative when for the experience either.
That Rivin himself must have them sat heavy in him and he tried with all his mental might to find and close the gaps wherever he could. He could not know what he did not know. Not unless he sought things that he had no way to know. Libraries were exceptionally good places to do this, but at five, almost six, he had no notion of what a library even was. His mother had explained to him what a book was, and he recalled seeing what had probably been books the two times he'd been taken to see Dr. Ilex.
The fetus of a plan implanted itself into his mind, when he thought about Dr. Ilex's books. It felt clever and powerful; it made his skin grow hot as though it needed to let action out.
But he was not called to the doctor again. not for many months. In that time he grew taller, put weight on his skinny frame, he began to feel just better, overall. His mother told him, when he asked, that this was because he was eating more kinds of foods. This was one of her gaps in knowledge; understanding vitamin deficiencies. In a way, she had been right, and it had encouraged Rivin to try all the kinds of food that came to them in that little room.
They did not spend all their time in the room, unlike they had in the cell. Sometimes, a few times a week, guards would come and escort them from the room, through the house, to an inner courtyard. It was large, more than an acre, almost entirely covered in grass kept well short, with a few trees, around the edges. When Rivin first saw it he thought it must be half the whole Imperium. He'd also fought not to throw up as he stepped out, trying not to tremble and cling to his mother, into the yard. It was open to the sky, though he had already learned the folly of looking directly upwards, and his time spent with the little window, which had given him a much clearer understanding of day and night, there was nothing that could prepare the little cave-dweller for the infinity of space above.
Later, in their room, when it was dark and quiet, he had asked his mother if the sky was infinite, though he did not know the word and had said something like 'never stops going'. She had said that the sky eventually became the realm of the gods. This answer had belayed his fear of falling up forever, but added a whole new set of questions which she had been unable to answer, to his great frustration. She had fallen asleep while he fumed, but by the next time they were allowed outside, he felt brave enough to sink his little feet into the grass.
It felt amazing. There was no way for him to describe how it felt. It was wholly new a paragon that would be the way he described other things, but itself defying all description. His mother had watched him with amusement and then darted past him on her slim, strong legs, taking great, graceful, leaping strides away to the other side of the green space. Rivin had never been so far away from his mother while he could still see her and having her whisk away as such a speed had alarmed him. Thankfully, another part of him had grown excited and his body responded by instinct, stretching out to run after her.
He had stumbled and fallen, but it wasn't the first time he'd ever fallen, and the grass was a good deal softer than the stone floor of their cell, so he hopped right back up and kept on. He chased her, falling often at first as his muscles acclimated to the new speed and texture of the ground. He never could catch her, not until she saw the guards coming to take them back inside and let him, but the afternoon was still a bright thing of laughter and movement that felt like freedom.
Rivin had never felt particularly like a slave, but Rivin had also never understood that there was a different state of being. Now, as he settled back into his room for an evening of learning more about sentences, he missed the bright space. His mind wandered and he could hardly pay attention as the sun set outside the window. Finally, his mother asked him where his mind was and he asked her if the sky went away with the sun. Her brows had perked and she had explained that the sky was still there at night, only dark and black instead of bright and blue, with little stars dotting the black. She reminded him about stars. He tried hard not to imagine a vast and infinite darkness hovering, heavy like a thousand blankets, directly over the room. His mother had given up by the time dinner was brought, and left him to his own thoughts until it was time for bed.
The next time they were allowed out into the yard another pair were already there, also a mother and son. They were dressed similarly to Rivin and his mother, in flowing, light clothing. The child was a bit larger than Rivin was, but he wasn't sure if that made him older, or only a different race. They did not look Lysanrin, and something about the way Rivin's mother's walk became prouder, her shoulders higher, told him that she believed they held higher status than this other mother and child. His mother did not play chase games with him, instead going over to the other mother and speaking quietly with her. This left Rivin to approach the boy. He spoke Common, but with an accent Rivin had not heard from the guards or Dr. Ilex.
Not knowing entirely what to do with the first other child he'd ever seen Rivin just stood for a few minutes, watching. The other boy did the same. Rivin asked if the other boy had met any other children. The boy nodded but did not answer him out loud. Rivin asked how many other children the boy had met. The boy shrugged. Rivin felt quite like pushing the other boy so that he fell down, but did not think that his mother would be pleased, and that perhaps even the guards would take them back to their room, so he did not. Instead, he caught the other child's eye and asked him if he liked to run and if he might like to run to the trees. The shrug came again but the movements of his body showed that he was ready to leap into motion. So, Rivin started running. The boy followed.
The afternoon became a game of races, in which there were no clear goals, end markers, or winners. They were well-matched, for while the other boy was taller, Rivin had been trained since he'd been barely old enough to walk in strengthening his body. It made Rivin wonder what other things this boy's mother had taught him, since she had not done the same lessons his mother had. He asked, but the other boy seemed to be only very confused, so they went back to running. By the end, Rivin was thirsty but otherwise fine. The other boy was breathing very heavily and sweating through his clothes. Rivin thought he might be defective, but did not say so. If he could not pass the tests he would be disposed of along with all the other children that had failed, and, looking at him, Rivin thought this was likely. He did not say this either, only went to his mother when she called for him, stepping lightly to her side and glancing back, as they made their way inside, at the other mother, wondering if she would be sad when her son was gone.
