Reaping Recollection (Part XIII)
Posted: Sat Nov 27, 2021 10:18 pm
16 Ash, 121
The books he'd borrowed, working his body, bathing, eating, and sleeping took up the majority of Rivin's time. The In-Between time, as he called it. When Ilex called for his service, that was the Work time. He looked forward to and dreaded both times, in their own ways. When he was left to his own devices he could catch up on reading he'd had to leave off when he'd been called on, he could do as he pleased without any of the anxiety that came with the time when he was expected to work.
Yet, when he was working he was learning things he never could from books, his life was exciting and interesting. He would be expected to meet people, speak to them, explain the experiment as well as the doctor and offer insight into what progress they were making. He was not allowed to know everything, of course, but enough that he could compile reports as well as read and understand them. When he was not expected to be working on, or participating in, the experiment, he was often expected to serve guests as a sort of half step between the doctor and a servant. He could make interesting conversation on most subjects, lead guests around the various houses he'd gotten used to, act as a secondary host at dinners. A second sense had begun to develop in him for the difference between the people who entered the house who were colleagues of the doctor, who would want scientific information, and those who were merely guests. Guests were not to be informed of the experiment or any aspect of it. If they broached the subject of science or breeding Rivin was supposed to feign ignorance beyond the simplest things. To guests, he was a servant, perhaps a high-level servant who was treated well, but servant no less. To scientists and mages, he was something else. There was no name for it, so far as he could tell. They would converse with him for hours, debate with him as though he were an equal once they grasped his level of intellect and involvement, but in an instant they might order him to act as a specimen, no longer seeing him as a sentient being. If he had been required to come up with a term for how he was treated by the doctor's colleagues he would have said he was treated as a rare and useful tool.
It had been more than ten days since they had arrived and Rivin did not think it would be long now before his services were required. The thought was born out by the fact that he always grew restless when left alone too long and the doctor seemed to have a second sense of his own about his useful tool's moods. Thus being the case Rivin retrieved some of his own books of notes, written in a cipher of his own devising that only himself and the doctor knew, and began refreshing himself on where they had left off almost a month earlier.
~~~~
Once his body was healed to the point that he could move, sit, and lay in any way he chose without pain, a process that took almost a full month, Rivin was allowed to go back out into the yard. The year was truly moving on, the leaves on the trees finished changing and mostly having fallen off. He made a game of piling them up and jumping into them, scattering for the wind to pick up and swirl around the enclosed outdoor space. When other boys joined him they made little contests of who could make the largest piles or scatter them with the largest jumps. When they were alone his mother began having him do handstands, cartwheels, climb high into the trees.
They had not spoken about his punishment, neither for her to offer sympathy nor for him to apologize. He had not wronged her and she had not been the cause of his pain. Though it was never said aloud Rivin had the growing sense that what was done by the one who owned them was an aspect of life entirely separate from their relationship and time together. What needed to be done to adjust for the choices of the owner would be done, but beyond that, it was another realm.
When he grew too cold to be allowed outside any longer his mother began to teach him the slow dances. That was how he thought of them when he was small. She taught him a series of individual poses and then how to connect them together, to flow between them smoothly with connecting movements. She could do them very slowly, but Rivin could not. If he moved through them at a normal speed (for him) he could get through it after a few weeks of practice though. She would do the first dance she had taught him every day of that winter, he would go through it three times in the time it took her to go through them once. By the end of the winter, he would only go through it twice while she did, and found himself proud of the fact.
When they were not dancing, Riving read like one starving for it. His ability to do so grew by leaps and bounds and often now, when he asked his mother what a word meant, she did not know. Histories were the main books he read, but the guards would bring him fiction as well. At first, he did not understand the difference and thought all the tales were equally true. When his mother discovered this it took her two days of carefully talking through his arguments and confusion before he was able to understand that people just made up history sometimes, for fun. When he finally accepted what she was insisting was true he asked how he was supposed to tell the difference. She had only blinked at him at first, as though the thought had never occurred to her. When he asked again she told him to ask her, or figure it out based on the way the book was started.
Turning back to the beginning of a book she told him was true, and one she told him was not true, he read over the authors' notes and explanations. He would do this with all of his books from then on until he was able to grasp what made one type different from the other. It helped when he also realized that the lie books were usually much more interesting, with a single narrative rather than a set of facts that sometimes felt like a story but often did not. He returned to the atlas all the time, whether he was reading fiction or not, to understand the geography of what he was reading.
Even the books of lies often told him things about places and their people, mannerisms, and customs that history authors either assumed the reader already knew or considered not important. He started making up his own stories, or imagining the basic facts of history into more detailed situations. Placing himself into the stories was a logical step for the mind of a seven-year-old and he had many wild adventures before Glade came again. Later he would look back on those adventures and realize how unrealistic they had been, not only in the stories themselves, but in how the characters had acted. He had only his mother, the other mothers and boys, Dr. Ilex, and the guards to base his characters on, so they were significantly limited.
When Glade did come again he was called to the doctor, but his mother was allowed to come, so he was able to make himself breathe as they walked through the halls to the exam room. Ilex greeted him as he'd done at each of his exams, took his samples, and asked the questions about his health. When he had finished another person came in, an adult human female, she had strange, glowing marks on the backs of each of her hands. They were two different symbols and not any letter Rivin knew how to read. She moved her hands and he felt... something. It was so little he thought it might have imagined it until, from the corner of his eye, he saw his mother twitch, ever so slightly. Her expression did not change but Rivin thought she must have felt it too.
The human woman continued to examine Rivin, not moving very much, not really doing anything, but the tingling sensation, unlike anything he had ever felt still told Rivin that she was doing something. After what felt like a long time, perhaps half an hour, she stopped looking at Rivin and moved over to the doctor, telling him all sorts of things that the boy did not understand. They were things about him, he could understand that. His blood, muscles, and bones were discussed, as well as his overall health and fertility, but whether what she was explaining meant he was healthy or not he couldn't tell. Ilex asked lots of questions, made a few notes, and asked her for a full report later.
When she left, the doctor came back over to Rivin and his approving smile was back. It was so strange, almost otherworldly, to be in the room with this man who had broken him so perfectly and was now treating him no differently than before. Perhaps the punishment was a part of how the doctor had thought about him and treated him all along, but Rivin had not understood that. His mind took the idea, pulled it into the far back, and tried to wrestle it into something that fit into reality. Ignoring that inner battle he gave all his attention to the man who might reward him or put him through a month of misery with the same calm expression on his face.
"I have heard that you are working to keep your body healthy. That is good." Dr. Ilex said. It wasn't a question, so Rivin only nodded.
"And that you have been asking for a lot of books." Another nod.
"What have to been reading?"
This time Rivin answered in words, explaining about the animals, the history, and the atlas. He wasn't sure how the doctor would feel about him reading lies, so he would only mention those if they doctor asked. The doctor listened with mild interest, but a little frown appeared between his eyebrows,
"Do you know how to count?" Rivin was back to nodding.
"Do you know maths?" A shake of the head this time. Then, trying to be brave he said,
"What is maths?" The frown became amusement and the doctor thought briefly before answering,
"Math is how you learn to read with numbers like you read with letters." Rivin was immediately interested, so much so that it must have showed because the pleased smile came back to the doctor's face.
"If you would like to learn, I will have some books sent. If you do well with the books I may even arrange for someone to teach you." The older man sounded a bit surprised at himself as he said it, but he did not take it back. "Do you want to learn?"
Rivin's nod was enthusiastic and he remembered to say 'Yes, please.' somewhere before he stopped.
The books he'd borrowed, working his body, bathing, eating, and sleeping took up the majority of Rivin's time. The In-Between time, as he called it. When Ilex called for his service, that was the Work time. He looked forward to and dreaded both times, in their own ways. When he was left to his own devices he could catch up on reading he'd had to leave off when he'd been called on, he could do as he pleased without any of the anxiety that came with the time when he was expected to work.
Yet, when he was working he was learning things he never could from books, his life was exciting and interesting. He would be expected to meet people, speak to them, explain the experiment as well as the doctor and offer insight into what progress they were making. He was not allowed to know everything, of course, but enough that he could compile reports as well as read and understand them. When he was not expected to be working on, or participating in, the experiment, he was often expected to serve guests as a sort of half step between the doctor and a servant. He could make interesting conversation on most subjects, lead guests around the various houses he'd gotten used to, act as a secondary host at dinners. A second sense had begun to develop in him for the difference between the people who entered the house who were colleagues of the doctor, who would want scientific information, and those who were merely guests. Guests were not to be informed of the experiment or any aspect of it. If they broached the subject of science or breeding Rivin was supposed to feign ignorance beyond the simplest things. To guests, he was a servant, perhaps a high-level servant who was treated well, but servant no less. To scientists and mages, he was something else. There was no name for it, so far as he could tell. They would converse with him for hours, debate with him as though he were an equal once they grasped his level of intellect and involvement, but in an instant they might order him to act as a specimen, no longer seeing him as a sentient being. If he had been required to come up with a term for how he was treated by the doctor's colleagues he would have said he was treated as a rare and useful tool.
It had been more than ten days since they had arrived and Rivin did not think it would be long now before his services were required. The thought was born out by the fact that he always grew restless when left alone too long and the doctor seemed to have a second sense of his own about his useful tool's moods. Thus being the case Rivin retrieved some of his own books of notes, written in a cipher of his own devising that only himself and the doctor knew, and began refreshing himself on where they had left off almost a month earlier.
~~~~
Once his body was healed to the point that he could move, sit, and lay in any way he chose without pain, a process that took almost a full month, Rivin was allowed to go back out into the yard. The year was truly moving on, the leaves on the trees finished changing and mostly having fallen off. He made a game of piling them up and jumping into them, scattering for the wind to pick up and swirl around the enclosed outdoor space. When other boys joined him they made little contests of who could make the largest piles or scatter them with the largest jumps. When they were alone his mother began having him do handstands, cartwheels, climb high into the trees.
They had not spoken about his punishment, neither for her to offer sympathy nor for him to apologize. He had not wronged her and she had not been the cause of his pain. Though it was never said aloud Rivin had the growing sense that what was done by the one who owned them was an aspect of life entirely separate from their relationship and time together. What needed to be done to adjust for the choices of the owner would be done, but beyond that, it was another realm.
When he grew too cold to be allowed outside any longer his mother began to teach him the slow dances. That was how he thought of them when he was small. She taught him a series of individual poses and then how to connect them together, to flow between them smoothly with connecting movements. She could do them very slowly, but Rivin could not. If he moved through them at a normal speed (for him) he could get through it after a few weeks of practice though. She would do the first dance she had taught him every day of that winter, he would go through it three times in the time it took her to go through them once. By the end of the winter, he would only go through it twice while she did, and found himself proud of the fact.
When they were not dancing, Riving read like one starving for it. His ability to do so grew by leaps and bounds and often now, when he asked his mother what a word meant, she did not know. Histories were the main books he read, but the guards would bring him fiction as well. At first, he did not understand the difference and thought all the tales were equally true. When his mother discovered this it took her two days of carefully talking through his arguments and confusion before he was able to understand that people just made up history sometimes, for fun. When he finally accepted what she was insisting was true he asked how he was supposed to tell the difference. She had only blinked at him at first, as though the thought had never occurred to her. When he asked again she told him to ask her, or figure it out based on the way the book was started.
Turning back to the beginning of a book she told him was true, and one she told him was not true, he read over the authors' notes and explanations. He would do this with all of his books from then on until he was able to grasp what made one type different from the other. It helped when he also realized that the lie books were usually much more interesting, with a single narrative rather than a set of facts that sometimes felt like a story but often did not. He returned to the atlas all the time, whether he was reading fiction or not, to understand the geography of what he was reading.
Even the books of lies often told him things about places and their people, mannerisms, and customs that history authors either assumed the reader already knew or considered not important. He started making up his own stories, or imagining the basic facts of history into more detailed situations. Placing himself into the stories was a logical step for the mind of a seven-year-old and he had many wild adventures before Glade came again. Later he would look back on those adventures and realize how unrealistic they had been, not only in the stories themselves, but in how the characters had acted. He had only his mother, the other mothers and boys, Dr. Ilex, and the guards to base his characters on, so they were significantly limited.
When Glade did come again he was called to the doctor, but his mother was allowed to come, so he was able to make himself breathe as they walked through the halls to the exam room. Ilex greeted him as he'd done at each of his exams, took his samples, and asked the questions about his health. When he had finished another person came in, an adult human female, she had strange, glowing marks on the backs of each of her hands. They were two different symbols and not any letter Rivin knew how to read. She moved her hands and he felt... something. It was so little he thought it might have imagined it until, from the corner of his eye, he saw his mother twitch, ever so slightly. Her expression did not change but Rivin thought she must have felt it too.
The human woman continued to examine Rivin, not moving very much, not really doing anything, but the tingling sensation, unlike anything he had ever felt still told Rivin that she was doing something. After what felt like a long time, perhaps half an hour, she stopped looking at Rivin and moved over to the doctor, telling him all sorts of things that the boy did not understand. They were things about him, he could understand that. His blood, muscles, and bones were discussed, as well as his overall health and fertility, but whether what she was explaining meant he was healthy or not he couldn't tell. Ilex asked lots of questions, made a few notes, and asked her for a full report later.
When she left, the doctor came back over to Rivin and his approving smile was back. It was so strange, almost otherworldly, to be in the room with this man who had broken him so perfectly and was now treating him no differently than before. Perhaps the punishment was a part of how the doctor had thought about him and treated him all along, but Rivin had not understood that. His mind took the idea, pulled it into the far back, and tried to wrestle it into something that fit into reality. Ignoring that inner battle he gave all his attention to the man who might reward him or put him through a month of misery with the same calm expression on his face.
"I have heard that you are working to keep your body healthy. That is good." Dr. Ilex said. It wasn't a question, so Rivin only nodded.
"And that you have been asking for a lot of books." Another nod.
"What have to been reading?"
This time Rivin answered in words, explaining about the animals, the history, and the atlas. He wasn't sure how the doctor would feel about him reading lies, so he would only mention those if they doctor asked. The doctor listened with mild interest, but a little frown appeared between his eyebrows,
"Do you know how to count?" Rivin was back to nodding.
"Do you know maths?" A shake of the head this time. Then, trying to be brave he said,
"What is maths?" The frown became amusement and the doctor thought briefly before answering,
"Math is how you learn to read with numbers like you read with letters." Rivin was immediately interested, so much so that it must have showed because the pleased smile came back to the doctor's face.
"If you would like to learn, I will have some books sent. If you do well with the books I may even arrange for someone to teach you." The older man sounded a bit surprised at himself as he said it, but he did not take it back. "Do you want to learn?"
Rivin's nod was enthusiastic and he remembered to say 'Yes, please.' somewhere before he stopped.