“Alright, so look around you. What d’you see?”
“Trees?”
“Right. But that ain’t all there is to see.”
Keon eyeballed him with a ‘huh?’ as they trudged through the woods and oversized leaves, twigs snapping beneath their feet. Iridescent pillars of light pierced randomly through the canopy, bathing the ground in nourishing warmth. The forest was dense but felt oddly spacious. Almost dark yet full of light.
“Back ‘ome, you plant a seed, water it, it grows. You get leaves, you get nuts, you get berries.”
“Produce.”
“Right. Here, it’s the same principle, but a different seed.”
Shem stopped and pulled out his Codex. Flipping to a page, he tore it out, forging a long staff that he dug into the ground.
“Here, everything that grows is the fruit of someone’s choices. So, the root…” he said, pointing the staff towards Keon’s chest. “Determines the fruit.”
Spinning the staff around his wrist, he continued to walk. Keon followed, contemplative.
“Whatever we Forge ultimately fragments. Those fragments seed new trees, new bushes, new vines.”
Just like the mattresses, Keon thought.
“So, whatever’s in your heart is what’s gonna grow. Bitter hearts make bitter fruit. Envy, anger and malice produce poison,” he stopped again, gesturing with the staff, “But what we do for each other, ‘ow we look out for each other; that makes good things grow.”
They stepped over a felled tree trunk, Keon stopping to glance at it.
“It’s the same thing when we forage. If a boy asked his dad for bread, would he give him a stone?”
Keon frowned and shook his head.
“Course not.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause that’s not what he asked for.”
Shem shook his head.
“Nah. ‘Cause he cares about him,” he said, pointing the tip of the staff. “So, when we forage, we forage with that in mind: what’s gonna ‘elp those around me?”
He dug the staff into the ground again, resting both hands on the tip.
“And that is why we learn to forage before we Forge.”
Keon nodded, eyes scanning the ground.
“So, you any good at drawing?” said Shem.
Keon looked up, unsure of the relevance.
“Yeah, I’m alright.”
Shem kicked up the staff and tossed it to Keon who caught it with one hand. Though made of paper, it felt solid as wood.
Shem pulled out his Codex. Its leather-bound cover was a deep blue, embossed in gold. Keon realised it read from right to left.
“Do you read Hebrew?” said Keon, intrigued.
Shem winked. He opened the Codex onto a series of pages filled with annotated sketches of various leaves, herbs, roots and fruit.
“Now, rather than poisoning the crew through trial and error, here’s a little hack to get you started,” he passed the Codex gently to Keon’s open hands which sunk beneath its weight. “Copy these pages out into your Codex and when we start foraging, you’ll know what to look for.”
“You serious? Just like that?”
“Just like that. But you gotta be accurate; like, bang on.”
“Can’t I just trace it?”
Shem stopped, chewing on the idea. He hadn’t thought of that.
“I dunno. Can you?”
“Worth a shot,” Keon shrugged.
“Alright, well, take a seat and get tracing. Once I get back, we’ll take you out for a spin. Just, whatever you do, don’t copy it out into ‘Memories.’”
“Memories?”
Shem took the Codex back and sat down on a nearby rock, thumbing it open.
“Here. Every Codex is arranged like a library and each section has a different purpose,” Keon craned his neck over Shem’s shoulder as he flicked through the various sections, “You’ve got Knowledge, Memories, Beliefs, Dreams, Truth, Fears and Hopes. At the back is the Appendix. Whatever your Mirror thinks, sees or feels is recorded there.”
Keon shuddered. That was where he’d found the phrase ‘Found you’ writing itself out the night before.
Shem slid a long stick of graphite out of a hidden pouch on the book’s spine, holding it up.
“This here’s for writing.”
“What do you do when it runs out?”
“It won’t,” he said, stuffing it back in. “Now, writing your own memories is dangerous. You could get lost; forget what’s real. New information always goes under ‘Knowledge.’ That way, it’s automatically added to ‘Memories.’”
“What if I make a mistake; do I just rip it out?”
Shem scoffed, “That won’t work. Ripped pages always regenerate from Memories. The moment you rip it out, you’re just making a memory of ripping it out, and that memory’ll have the same information in it. Just like that, it’s back in your Codex.”
“That’s actually crazy…”
“Welcome to Underland,” shrugged Shem.
He clapped Keon on the back with enthusiasm, almost knocking him over.
“Right. Won’t be long.”
“You won’t need this?” said Keon, gesturing with the Codex.
“I got plenty of tricks that don’t require a Codex,” he winked.
And with that, he disappeared into the bushes.
Keon peered around the area, checking the canopy for any sign of movement. Heaving a sigh of relief, he took a spot on a large stone jutting out from the ground. Glancing around once more, he flicked through Shem’s Codex until he found what he was looking for.
* * *
Now, tracing one large, hardback book with another large, hardback book was no easy feat. Keon had to hold one at a right angle from the other, meaning the images didn’t line up the same way. He hoped it wouldn’t affect his recollection of the information later. On top of that, finding a spot where he could comfortably sit and lay out the books and trace without them sliding all over the rock wasn’t easy.
Realising a break was in order, he took a moment to flick through his own Codex until he landed on ‘Memories.’
Peeling back the pages, he found thick pillars of text and intricately detailed sketches pulled from the deepest recesses of his mind. There were things there he hadn’t thought about in years, details he didn’t even know he remembered; all of them perfectly preserved within the pages of the Codex.
The memories were arranged, more or less, chronologically; sometimes interspersed with recollections and repetitions from a previous page. His seventh birthday party, the one they’d held in the old conservatory. Exploring the rolling hills and forests of Kent before they moved back to the city. Mum and Dad dancing before the fireplace on New Years Eve. It was all there.
He didn’t realise he was crying until the first tear drop splashed onto the page. It was a double spread of the family sat around the table for Sunday dinner. As the wet patch spread to the outer fringes of the drawing, it suddenly filled with colour as though a pot of rainbow-coloured ink had been spilled across the page. Suddenly it was alive and moving. Dad’s dashing smile, the brown fringes of his hair bouncing. Bella rocking backwards in silent laughter whilst Mum served the roast potatoes. There were notations dotted all around the edges, snatches of conversation, sights, tastes and smells. The text seemed to dance around the imagery as it moved.
Fearing he was about to crumble, he skimmed over the next few pages, only coming to a stop when something caught his eye near the end of the section. The text was arranged in columns across two pages. Breaking the columns in the middle was a single sketch. A girl with shoulder-length golden hair—dark at the roots—boarded by two locks that fell past her shoulders. A distinctive golden chain dangled around her neck.
Zahara.
Every single thought about her that had flashed before his mind in the last twenty-four hours was etched onto the page; like memories preserved in amber.
Suddenly, the book rippled from front to back, and this time he didn’t hesistate to throw it. It bounced off a tree, landed on its back and flapped open as though the wind were flicking through its pages. He spun round on the spot, scanning the trees. Nothing. Shem’s staff still leaned against the rock, so he grabbed it. Tip-toeing over, he prodded the book once with the staff. It didn’t move. Obviously it didn’t move because that was crazy! He tossed the staff to the side, walked over and scooped the book up. Once again, he felt drawn to the back pages. And there, once again, he found black words bleeding onto the centre of the page.
These lot can’t help you.
You have to help yourself.
He slammed the book shut—paused, his eyes racing through his thoughts—then opened it back up again.
The page was empty.
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