“We could take it to Vern,” he said, though even with his encyclopedic knowledge of texts, I didn’t think Vern was fluent in a dead language.
The last portion of the book, the appended pages, were written on soft parchment, this time in antiquated English.
“The following is a translation ofLiber Autumnus, or the Book of Autumn.” There was no date supplied.
The translating authority’s writing—an ornate, swooping script—I realized now was the same hand that had scrawled tiny notes in the margins of the first twenty pages of symbols. Notes like:Poison? Demon or God. Unequivocally the word for evil.
“So the author is S, whoever that is, but who wrote this third portion? Who translated it?” Max asked.
“I don’t know. From the look of this binding, it’s probably gone through multiple translations. Probably Latin first. It must’ve been passed down for generations.”
From what I could see from the translation in English, the Book of Autumn was written in the style of a diary. It was a firsthand account of the author, S. Possibly meant to be a letter of some kind?
Even with the translation, the antiquated English was hard to read, and even harder to understand. From what I could make out, the first page read something like this:
Note (Cella): The symbols go on for several pages, though pages are missing. Torn out intentionally or ripped by mistake?
THEBOOK OFAUTUMN
—S
The years pass, and I am an old man. My eyes falter by the candlelight with which I dictate these writings, and my fingers ache and bruise. But I must get my thoughts down. If I don’t put them into words, then maybe no one will ever know they existed. None will know of these things I have found.
And you must know.
So I write this to you, dear reader, in hopes that you will accomplish more than what I have been able to do.
If I can ask one thing of you, first:
Apollonius knows not of the sacrifices I have made for him, of the ways I have ensured his safety in the event of my death. Do not torment him with the knowledge. He is young, and he has time left to take a wife and start a family. I have heard there are places yet where men can still freely discuss the world. Where the mystic arts and the world beyond ours is not such a feared subject. The lands of Crete and Babylon, where I traveled as a young scholar to decode the symbols at the beginning of this text. If you read this, send him there. Tell him to make a life for himself. Tell him to worry not, for birds will always fly east of the river, and there will always be a sun to shine.
I.
I was working as a scribe for Master Porphyr, copying stacks of texts, from the great alchemical findings of Assyria and the islands of Tyana, to star charts and navigation systems, to prayers, and stories of epic battles between gods and men. It was while I was at this task, copying letter upon letter in the dim light of a sweating tallow wick, that I came upon it. A stack of parchment, bound in twine. Twenty-one pages of alchemical and Magical symbols, authorship unknown, no hint or markings as to whence it came, nor any indication of what the symbols were in reference to.
I stared at the symbols until the wax ran thick and the light burned out, and when I closed my eyes, they were still ingrained there, burned against my eyelids. The next day, I asked Master Porphyr where they came from, but he was as baffled as I. “Cast it out,” he told me. “I’m in the business of translation, I have no use for nonsense.” But I couldn’t bear to part with it. How could it be that a learned man like Porphyr did not see the beauty in it? The mystery? So I stole it away and hid it in my bedroll.
Night after night, I stared at the symbols, running my fingers over the ink, begging it to unleash its contents, to teach me the mysteries of the world. By day, I continued on as a scribe, though my work was poor, half of my attention elsewhere. At the end of the season, I said my goodbyes to Porphyr. After listening to my father relate in great detail how much an ungrateful fool I was, I set off to find a teacher to help me decode the symbols.
I spent years trying to find a teacher who could read the symbols. I traveled to Assyria, to the priests of Egypt, the Magi of Babylon, thewise men ofCrete[Translator’s note: This word is unfamiliar to me. It may mean something like a sage, but more highly specialized in the mysteries and arcanum, more akin to a wizard.]
At last, my travels took me to Croton. It was here I joined a school, where I learned of the true nature of the universe, of the divine uttering of the One, and the whisperings therein. Though the symbols at the front of this text are but few, the message in full is much broader and deeper than I ever could have imagined. It is that which I attempt to explain, to show as fully as I can, in these pages.
DAY 3 OFMETAPXIOΣ WANING
16 DAYS PAST MY ARRIVAL INCROTON
There is a man here; a local merchant has told me to seek him out. He is said to be a master of the knowledge which I seek, but I am told he must understand the whole of a person’s character and morality before he will accept you into his school. Admittance is only granted after a trial of some sort. Then there is a vow of silence for a time, not to be less than two years, before I am permitted to learn of anything. I suppose I have traveled this long and this far, so if he knows of what I need, I am prepared to at least speak with him. I will seek him out tomorrow. He lives at the top of the hill.
25DAYS PAST MY ARRIVAL INCROTON
I believe that He is the one who can decode these symbols, though His teaching is nearly as cryptic. His methods are strange to me. He subscribes to the theory that a clear mind is necessary for all things, that we should abstain from unnecessary food, any and all sexual relations, and communications with the uninitiated. Under no circumstances are we to share His teachings with those outside our sacred community. Punishments for breaking His laws range from the mundane to the extreme, to include deprivation of sleep, piercing of needles through the eyes, isolation, excommunication and the erection of graves for the excommunicated, and fasting from food and drink for no less than two days.
He believes that, through the study of mathematics, alchemy, geometry, and science, one can learn the true nature of things and perfect their soul so then it may be freed from this prison of endless migration into other bodies, and I am eager to learn all that He will teach me. I am eager to perfect my immortal soul. He insists I will learn the symbols in due time, and I do believe Him. Though I have not been here long, it is clear He is famed for his wisdom. Men and women come to him from great distances begging for His help, and He speaks to them in a calm, low voice. He is a very learned man. My father would be proud. Though first I must make it through my schooling. I fear it is this which brings me the most agitation.
I have seen those who have not been able to withstand the teachings. They have burned the bottoms of their feet with hot coals in their shame. They have thrust needles through their eyes and walked over the edge of the sea cliffs. I do not know what it is about Him that inspires such devotion; I only know that His students profess to love Him like a God. He has made it clear that He is not one.
ONE MOON’S ROTATION UNTIL THE SOLSTICE
