"How canst thou be certain?

Howled the man between two mirrors: he can be certain only when reasons support each other without end.

Replied the dragon eating its own tail: when the conclusion supports the reasons, he can be certain.

Replied the man clinging to a rock falling in mid-air: certainty is created when he posits an unsupportable reason.

The man standing on Earth said he can be almost certain when reasons logically grow from perceptual evidence. He then rested his foot on a rock and pulled up his bootstraps."

-- The Cosmogon Codex, Prolegomenon, Verses 14 to 15.

I was writing in this very book when a sound like a deep moaning halted my recollections. Leaving this day-log on the floor, I picked up my lantern and crept down the dark passage towards the sound. It could not have been the voice of Sister Hearsome Cloud--the pitch was too low, and it modulated in a pattern most inhuman. I would not quite say I was frightened.

When I reached the source of the sound, I relaxed my shoulders and sighed. It was merely a large air duct resonating with the night wind. Why it had an aperture at this level of the building I could not ken. The duct was about two man-heights in diameter, generally vertical but slanted enough so one may slide down, perhaps without scathing.

Thinking that this might be what had happened to Hearsome Cloud (without speculating why she would do such a drastic deed) I stuck my head into the shaft and peered down with the lamp, but sight quickly faded to darkness--and the same in the upward direction. The breeze was surprisingly slight, barely fluttering my hood. I called Sister Hearsome Cloud's name down the duct.

The moaning stopped.

The rational, deliberative part of my brain was snuffed like a candle. I was suddenly operating on mere animal instinct, having the sickening feeling that I had naively wandered into a predator's lair, and was only realizing it too late. I jerked back out of the shaft and ran along the passage whence I had come. Enough presence of mind returned that I snatched up this day-log from the floor.

I ran for some more shortlogs, frequently looking back to see if anything was chasing me. I saw and heard nothing more unusual. But in my haste to return to a populated area, I took a wrong turn and became a bit disoriented. I slowed, trying but failing to retrace my steps. The passage grew warmer, indicating an opening to the outside was near.

I came across a thin layer of sand underfoot, it having apparently drifted down from a sun-shaft. Scuffs streaked this dirt, as if something had been dragged--or someone had crawled. I called out Hearsome Cloud's name again, this time in a hushed rasp. There was a response: a soft grunt. A moment later my ring of lamplight caught the collapsed figure.

I helped her sit up, examining a face with dry and cracked lips. She confirmed her identity as Hearsome Cloud, and said that she had gotten lost while exploring these unused buildings. She asked for water, but I had not thought to bring any. She was able to hobble along with my assistance, and we made it back to populated chambers.

Several brothers and sisters glanced at us as we passed, but said nothing. She directed me to the dens where her friends would habitually gather. There were indeed many there who were alarmed by her condition, and immediately fetched flagons of water and bowls of fruit. I left her in their good hands and returned to my sleeping room, now rather exhausted.

The next morning I went through my customary rituals. I took my noon meal in a hall near the rooms where I had left Hearsome Cloud last night, hoping to run into her and ask after her welfare. I did not see her.

In the evening I found her friends and asked if they knew where I might find her, declaring my intentions. They claimed they knew not, but I had a sense they indeed had an inkling. When I pressed them, they insisted I go ask one of the megaschemas.

This advice I took. After tramping to the megaschemas' complex and asking random scholars lounging about, I was directed to one of the watchtowers, where I was told I could find Megaschema Night Ice contemplating The Codex, and that he would have the tidings I sought.

So I climbed the spiral stairs. Shortlogs later, on the top landing, I gathered my breath, marveling at how such an old man could make it up here.

I knocked, and a voice bade me enter. I entered and waited in a respectful stance for him to divest his eyes from his exceptionally large version of The Codex. (Below I sketch Night Ice as he appeared then.) He asked me plainly what I wanted.

I told him I wanted to ask after the welfare of Sister Hearsome Cloud, who had just yesterday suffered from unwatering; and that I was led to believe, most creditably, that a megaschema in his wisdom, such as himself, might know her whereabouts.

He told me that he in fact did know her whereabouts, and that whilst it was none of my concern, it was no secret that she was now jostling atop a camel who was shuffling through the sands, for she had been banished from our fine bedestow.

~ Path Dust

Upon the Hour of the Owl, Moon Song Day, First Moon, in this the 17,622nd Year A.R. ~