(Photo by Pixabay)

Dural was a large city, by Nis’ estimations. Her family lived out on the edges of the city where there was room enough to farm the land, but several thousands of people lived further in, nearer the city center. Most buildings were still built with wood and plaster but many newer one were being built out of cement or brick. The oldest buildings, comprising the royal palace, the archives, and some of the larger manors belonging to the wealthiest families of Dural, were universally constructed out of a pale sandstone.

The archives itself was a wide, squat building that, in times past, had been part of the royal palace. Now, the large wall that separated the palace from the rest of the city intersected with the north side of the archives, appearing to bisect the archives and cutting them off from the rest of the palace. When or why the decision had been made to exclude the archives in that manner was anyone’s guess. Nis had asked the archivists about it and none of them had known the answer to that question.

It was a quiet cart ride into the center of Dural for Nis and her parents. Her mom and dad sat up front while Nis sat with her arms and legs bracing the stacks of journals. The roads were well maintained in some sections of the city but for the most part they were left to the care of whoever lived in or frequented those areas. This left many of the roads in somewhat unreliable conditions and made most trips into the city bumpy ones at best.

It usually took Nis an hour or so to walk to the archives. The cart wasn’t much faster and Nis almost wished she could have walked as she bounced along, wondering if she was going to bruise her tailbone. When the archives finally came into view it was with mixed emotions that Nis began to look forward to being able to get out of the cart. She’d have to give up her journals then, and no matter what she’d said before, a part of her did worry that the archivists wouldn’t accept her journals.

As they pulled up to the front of the archives, Jinoa, one of the archivists, came out to greet them as was their custom.

“Welcome,” Jinoa said in a practiced manner before seeing Nis and brightening. “Nis, it’s always a joy to see you, and am I right in assuming that these are your parents?”

“Yes,” Nis replied.

Jinoa was one of the older archivists, her joints so achy and her sight so poor that she was usually selected to perform the function of greeter. Nis often sat with Jinoa to share a meal and was always rewarded with stories of ancient rulers and far away places. Sometimes Nis already knew the story, having lived during its events, and she would confuse Jinoa whenever she’d correct her on some of the details.

“…has been very distracted lately,” her mom was saying and Nis realized she’d yet again been caught staring off into space while inside her own thoughts.

“Sorry,” Nis said automatically and climbed out of the cart.

Jinoa smiled at Nis in her usual way and then motioned up towards the main entrance.

“May I show you in?” She asked. “I’m sure Nis has piqued your interest in some piece of history or another that she’s wanting to share with you.”

“Actually,” her dad said, “We’ve come to see if you would be interested in the dream journals Nis has been keeping.”

Jinoa turned a puzzled look onto Nis. The archivists all knew about her dreams and journals but they rarely expressed their opinions about them, although none of them had ever disparaged her for writing them.

“You want to donate your journals?” Jinoa asked.

“They were going to burn them,” Nis replied and earned herself a pair of stern looks from her parents. Jinoa looked shocked and gave Nis’ parents a stern look of her own.

“Why would you–

“This is a private matter for our family,” her dad interjected. “Nis has agreed that the journals and her dreams aren’t good for her and she needs to let them go.”

Jinoa glanced to Nis who shook her head ever so slightly.

“The destruction of knowledge is a terrible thing and the archives will gladly accept the duty of protecting these fine works that Nis has produced,” Jinoa said with pride, laying a comforting hand on Nis’ shoulder.

Her parents looked both upset and confused but said nothing.

“Nis,” Jinoa said, “go and bring one of the sorting carts so we can bring these inside and get them prepared. And send me one of the apprentices.”

Usually, Jinoa would have taken them all inside and then sent an apprentice to gather whatever was being donated to the archives. It was obvious that Jinoa wanted to speak with her parents while she was gone, but what did she need an apprentice for if not to get the cart? As Nis made her way inside to where the sorting carts were stored, she hoped that whatever Jinoa said wouldn’t upset her parents too much more and result in her being banned from coming to the archives anymore.

The apprentices sat in their usual spot along the entry hall, waiting to be summoned. Nis knew them all but never really spent much time with them. They were all at least a year older than she was, since most apprenticeships didn’t begin until a person was at least sixteen years old.

“Jinoa requires an apprentice,” Nis told them and immediately the one nearest the door stood up and left to see what Jinoa needed.

“Nis,” a familiar voice called to her as she opened the closet where the sorting carts were stored.

Kyneh was the first archivist Nis had met. He’d been outside, in front of the archives repairing a book binding when they’d first met. The smells of the glue had been what first caught her attention as it was a smell she had experienced many times before in her dreams. Kyneh had been most surprised when Nis joined him and began helping without ever needing direction. His hair was long, contrary to how most men wore their hair in Dural. It was pure white at the roots and down to his shoulders but turned a deep auburn near the tips. His eyebrows were similarly long and bore the same shift in colors.

“Hello Kyneh,” Nis said back to him with a wave.

“Something wrong?” Kyneh asked, frowning and hurrying over to join her as she pulled the cart out and began making her way towards the door.

“I have to give my journals to the archive,” Nis explained, “otherwise my parents are going to burn them.”

“What?” Kyneh gasped. “Are they here? Are they safe?”

“My parents or my journals?”

“I mean, I suppose I should assume that your journals are here since you have the cart, but why would your parents want to destroy them?”

“Ask them,” Nis said and pushed the cart through the doors and back outside.

Jinoa was standing not far from the doors, her arms folded and her face held in a tight expression. Nis’ parents were still over by the cart. They were similarly stiff in their postures. The apprentice was nowhere to be seen.

“Now see here,” Kyneh called out, pushing past Nis and Jinoa and shaking a finger at Nis’ parents. “Your daughter–

“They have been spoken to,” Jinoa said and caught Kyneh by the shoulder.

He looked surprised at having been stopped and judging from how high he’d raised his eyebrows Nis knew he thought there must have been a mistake.

“They were going to burn the journals!”

“I am aware, now please help Nis with loading the sorting cart.”

Kyneh blinked and opened and closed his mouth wordlessly a few times before he relented and rejoined Nis, muttering under his breath all the while in the dialect of some far off place so that no one would understand what he was saying. Each archivist tended to have their own area of expertise and Kyneh’s was languages. Besides translating texts he liked to keep whatever disagreeable thoughts and comments he had as incomprehensible as possible to those around him.

While Nis and Kyneh were moving the journals her parents kept their distance. It even seemed as though they were avoiding looking at her. Whatever Jinoa had said to them, Nis would no doubt hear about it once they were on their way back home.

Running footsteps caught her attention and Nis paused in her work with the journals to look up and see what the source was. The apprentice that Jinoa had asked for was returning from whatever errand he had been sent on. Being sent on errands wasn’t uncommon for apprentices but where the apprentice was coming from was certainly a surprise.

The palace gate.

The wall surrounding the palace had a single gate not far from the archives. Most of the time they were kept shut but as the apprentice ran up to Jinoa, Nis could still see the gates standing wide open. The apprentice spoke quietly with Jinoa for a moment and then was dismissed to return to the archives.

“Oh,” Kyneh said softly from beside Nis as though he suddenly understood something. “I owe Jinoa an apology. And don’t worry,” he added, laying a comforting hand on Nis’ shoulder, “everything will be alright.”

Nis, puzzled by Kyneh’s remarks, followed his gaze back over to the palace gates where a pair of royal functionaries had just stepped out and were approaching the archives. The long flowing robes of alabaster white and sky blue, along with their shaved heads made them impossible to miss. They always worked in pairs, being set up with their partner from the moment they were taken as apprentices. This pair was a man and woman, both of about the same height.

Nis, like most other people in Dural, knew about the royal functionaries and would need to deal with them from time to time but they were still a rare sight. They were the ones who would bare witness to agreements regarding property sales or large business dealings, as well as mediate between people when serious disagreements arose.

“Did Jinoa call for them?” Nis asked under her breath.

“Most certainly,” Kyneh replied.

“This isn’t serious enough to get them involved. Why would they care about a farmer’s argument with their daughter?”

“I doubt they’re here to mediate,” Kyneh said but didn’t elaborate as the royal functionaries arrived and greeted Jinoa.

“We have come, as requested,” the woman said while the man withdrew a small, folding desk that he set up in a quick, practiced flourish. A sealed inkwell was set into the desk’s surface and a quill was held in place by a small pin. Paper was already held in place by metal clasps that could be swiveled to allow the paper to be removed and replaced.

The royal functionaries looked around briefly before their eyes landed on Nis and they motioned for her to come to them. For all the knowledge granted to her by her past lives, she was reminded about just how little she knew about the current laws of Dural. As a result she was left utterly bewildered as to what they were doing here or why.

“Nis,” the woman said once Nis had reached them, “daughter of Prell and Losh.”

Nis wasn’t certain if the royal functionary was asking her if she was Nis or simply stating it as fact but as the time and silence dragged on Nis finally said, “That’s me,” just to get passed the awkwardness.

“You have been identified as an invaluable vessel of knowledge by Jinoa of the archives.”

The other royal functionary was hurriedly scribbling words onto the sheet of paper, recording everything being said. Nis had heard of things being labeled as invaluable vessels of knowledge before, things that were so rare or important that the archives basically confiscated them from whoever the previous owner had been.

“I’m sorry,” Nis said, painfully aware that her words were being written down even as she spoke them. “I’m donating my journals. I’m not a vessel–

“Archivist Jinoa has similarly acknowledged the value of your journals,” the royal functionary said, interrupting Nis, “and they will also be marked as being invaluable vessels of knowledge.”

The scratching of the quill across paper was so distracting that Nis was finding it difficult to concentrate. She wanted it to stop, to slow down, but already the royal functionary was speaking again and the quill only picked up the pace to keep up.

“Prell and Losh,” she was saying, “you will be granted an apprentice for ten years to make up for the loss of labor Nis was previously providing to you and your farm.”

“Wait,” Nis interjected, “I can’t go home?”

The royal functionary turned to Nis and her expression was one of compassion and understanding.

“Nis, invaluable vessels of knowledge are not allowed to be taken outside of the archives except on very special circumstances.”

“You’re going to lock me up in there?”

“As that would be inhumane,” the royal functionary noted, “you will be allowed a certain degree of freedom, as this is a unique situation, how that will be managed will be left to the discretion of the archivists and the Throne. Until such arrangements are made, however, you will be required to remain within the archives.”

More words were said but Nis heard none of it. People moved about her, at one point the sorting cart was taken inside the archives, but she remained where she stood, unable to think or to act. Eventually even her parents left, each one of them giving her a brief hug and kiss that Nis did not return. Only after they were gone did she regain her faculties and she turned hoping to see them, to call after them, but that moment was passed and they were already gone from sight.

“Come,” Jinoa said, holding out her aged hand.

Nis took it, aware of how frail it felt in her own hand with skin thin as a bed sheet and bones like dry twigs.

“I didn’t mean for you to do this,” Nis managed to say as they walked up to the archive doors.

“I know,” Jinoa replied, “but we couldn’t risk losing your knowledge.”

“So, you do believe me?” Nis asked.

Jinoa wouldn’t meet Nis’ gaze, instead staring straight ahead.

“There isn’t consensus among the archivists on that subject,” Jinoa admitted and Nis didn’t fail to miss how Jinoa hadn’t said which side of the argument she was on, “but we are all in agreement that your knowledge of thing both practical and historical are vast and, in many instances have been proven to exceed the records we have collected here.”

“So you’re just taking me so you can–

“We would never have done this if we didn’t think it was necessary,” Jinoa cut her off. “The destruction of your journals was unacceptable, but your parents were also determined to stop you from recording any more dreams and from coming to the archives. If they would have agreed to let you continue as you have been then we would have left it at that but they would not relent.”

They entered the archives, its vast halls and rooms spreading out before them. Before, they had always seemed like an enticing maze that she was eager to lose herself in for hours at a time. Now they felt like the cavernous insides of a prison.

Word of what had happened had apparently spread through the archivists and they were all assembled in the entry hall as Nis and Jinoa entered. Some smiled, some frowned, all looked somewhat uncomfortable.

“We welcome you,” they all said together, bowing, “to the archive.”