Markal's Mind

[bloodless]

The small tome shows its age with the worn leather binding, the faded ink on yellowed pages and ruffled edges. It’s not a book that was well loved by its owner though it is extensively used -- beyond the cover page marked with a simple “Property of M.S.” sprawls a gnarled script, the product of an unsteady hand. Deciphering it is its own challenge for although written in the common language, no consideration was given to any potential readers. The letters seem to lead a life of their own, jostling for position with their neighbours as sentences meander across the unruled paper page after page, skipping over the occasional ink blot or smear with unconcerned ease. Adorning the text are small scribbles around the loosely followed self-imposed margins and later on the occasional full page set aside for illustrations of complex geometric shapes, surprisingly neat and evidently aided by some kind of ruler, annotated by unclear abbreviations…

There’s so little to entertain me here, I might as well get started on this idea. If nothing else it will help pass the time. But where to begin? The early days seem as good a place as any, and perhaps keeping to chronology will help me tease out some hitherto hidden truth of the past.

My earliest memories are of bare papered walls and drafty halls. The meagre seat of power for a local lordling, overlooking from his fortified hill the village huddled beneath. He was ever fond of retelling our grand lineage, nevermind that almost nothing of it remained for us. It was just the sort of man my father was...

[bloodless]

Fate is a funny thing. Are we fated to the trials and tribulations that befall us? Some would certainly say so, seeing them as either a test to be endured or punishment to be received. I am not so sure anymore. After all, is it not in man's hands to wrangle success out of the cruel and unforgiving elements? I look upon the desolate and empty manors that mark the landscape and I cannot help but wonder, were they just not strong enough? It certainly feels like fate is what has driven them to ruin, and driven us to the brink of it. But what if...

[bloodless]

I don't remember the incident, only a sudden start followed by a sharp pain. At the time I must have been around seven years old, going on eight, but of the following weeks I have only the vaguest recollections. They feared for my life more than once, I was later told, and even managing that much was considered a small miracle. None of the healers we had access to could do much for my other injuries, however... It is strange sensation, recalling those days. Remembering the boy who cared more about running around with his two best friends than tending the gardens; who could hardly sit still without nodding asleep or staring out the window when it was time to learn. They are as if memories from another life, a different person. Fate is a funny thing indeed, whether you wish to curse or smile at it.

[bloodless]

The months following took their toll as I could no longer indulge any of my passions, however childish they might have been. I remember the looks most vividly, the furtive glances, the quirk of restrained lips, the twitch of the nose. I learned to ignore them with time, of course, but I still feel that old yearning on occasion, still buried somewhere in my breast. To scream for them all to stop, to simply resume as they had before. But things had changed and there was to be no going back. The choice, I remember my uncle patiently explaining one particularly restless night, was on me to raise my chin and adapt, or continue languishing in self pity, making a mockery of our noble blood. Little did I know what else he had to share...

[bloodless]

It was an easy hook to swallow. So easy, in fact, that I grew angry with him. Why had he waited so long before reaching out? Why was I left to suffer both pain and indignity? Thinking back on it, I don't think I can explain any better than he did, nor would I do otherwise in his shoes. Misery is an invaluable teacher, and a supremely personal one. It separates one's childish wants from their real and present needs. With the pain of misery at my back, I was spurred to begin my new study with vigor I had never before possessed. It took a long time for my damaged hands to learn to write again, and longer still to match the intricate calligraphy of the old diaries, but I was motivated, and by hook or by crook, I succeeded, made stronger for having endured my fate up to that point. And that was just the start of it...

[bloodless]

For much of my life I have been surrounded by confident people. As a quality it is appealing, though it can sometimes turn obnoxious if attention is called to it. But when action is taken with confidence, even if later it is proven ill advised, the perception from those around you will be largely benign. It is an easy way to exist when certainty draws neat boxes of the world around you. I have seen this more than once, confident men, so sure of where they came from, and from that assuming they knew where they were in the present, as well as where they were headed next. And they proved to be oh so frequently wrong, on all three counts. Confidence softens the blow, but it will seldom prevent it, whereas even a sliver of new knowledge can illuminate hitherto hidden pathways. Therefore... Assume nothing.

[bloodless]

They say "trust your instincts", but that is incomplete advice. While such reactions sometimes prove vital, they are inherited from those that have come before, and void of nuance. Some species of snake can be deadly, certainly, but there are others which are not, and more to the point, had we allowed our inherited aversion to all things that slither in the underbrush to rule us, we would never have discovered the medicines which their venom can be transformed into. So the answer is not 'instinct', but the cultivation of intuition. This is a personal process in the sense that while much can be learned from others, there is no substitute for first hand experience. Wisdom, in other words. There is no surer way to grow and mature than to see with one's own eyes and touch with one's own hands. With this ever growing repository of knowledge and experience, we can circle back to the original statement and find it satisfactory. "Never go against your gut" indeed...

[bloodless]

One of the first things my uncle took pains to impress upon me after that night was the importance of discretion and secrecy. We had lost much in the pogrom one century prior, but even with that devastation came several hard earned lessons. First among them is vigilance. Inroads must be made if our line and traditions are to be maintained, but they can only come after thorough consideration. Nothing can be taken for granted lest we invite destruction again - neither the loyalty of friends and family, nor the action or inaction of the seeming strangers on the street. Everyone is potentially under opposition control.

[bloodless]

It was a difficult adjustment to make even as a young child. I wonder how the mind of an adult, well established and set in his ways, would handle the necessary reconciliations. I imagine that most would fail at it, and that is only considering those who would devote themselves earnestly. The ways can be taught as I was taught, but the mindset is something rarer, forged by circumstances that even if one were to attempt to induce, they would need a uniquely tailored approach for every new individual. It makes one wonder about incidents and accidents, the so-called fate. Is it truly blind? Or is someone's hand well and truly at the tiller... Do not look back; you are never completely alone.