PIRIN

Leaves of papyrus and a hand-writer's pen

Leaves of papyrus and a hand-writer's pen CHAPTER VI

A play of chiaroscuro separated a column from the other in the loggia, following the lines of the arches and casting on the inside the shadows of the changing lights of the outer landscape. From that elevated spot, one could enjoy a panoramic view of the river and the woods that, set alight by the autumn and the declining sun approaching the horizon, looked like sculptures in bronze and copper.

Helewen sat beside Domenir on a comfortable high-backed seat, as he cast his uninterested look on the ducks and swans floating in water. Every now and then he would ask Domenir some question, or inform him about his plans for the next day (or days).

When, abruptly, the boy asked him about his story and his people’s, Helewen did not immediately reply, as though he were surprised by that unexpected question. Or, to be more precise, he did expect that question, but could not tell the time of its being asked.

“My story, Domenir, is a story made by the interlace of many other stories. In my life I witnessed great events, some of them changing once and for all the way the world we live in looks like…” The nobleman stopped. The young boy looked at Helewen while slightly moving the head in his direction, his eyes impatient that the speaker continued his tale, but, as soon as he saw Helewen had no intention to keep up, came back to rest his head on the pillow of his wheel-chair, although he still kept his gaze on his foster-father. Helewen spoke no more. Domenir could not figure out what such a silence meant, but did not speak either. They stood in the loggia until sunset, then Helewen got up, inviting the boy to join him for dinner in the hall.

The day after, when he opened his eyes, Domenir saw there were leaves of papyrus and a hand-writer's pen on the sheets. He collected them, and was surprised to realize all the leaves were blank. “What kind of message is this?”, he asked himself while raising on his arms and leaning his head on the headboard. He took from his nightstand the bell which he used every morning to call a carer charged to dress him, wash his face, help him getting on his chair and escorting him to breakfast. As soon as he had come before his foster-father, Domenir could not wait a second before asking for an explanation for the unusual handwriting set waiting for his wake on the sheets. “What does it mean?” he asked Helewen, while putting pen and scrolls on the table. Untroubled, the King was staring at the boy, and he promptly clarified any doubt about his reasons: “You shall write my story, Nhalfòrdon-Domenir. Thus the memories of an old King shall not get lost through his death”, the Pirin announced.

The young man rolled his eyes, then slightly frowned; eventually, after a brief hesitation, he smiled at his foster-father. “That would be a honour, sir”.

“Yes, but not straightaway. Now finish your breakfast. Then we shall get into the hall. Before dictating my memoirs, I want to tell you about the origin and the customs of my people…” Helewen added, sipping a perfumed juice from a chalice.

When they had moved to the adjacent hall, where a warm fireplace was waiting for them, the couple took seats, and Helewen told Naroghesis to put on Domenir’s chair’s arms a wooden board, upon which the boy could put the leaves of papyrus and an inkwell. Thereafter the King dipped the pen in the ink, and put it in the boy’s hand.

“Write, Domenir. Title: Concerning the origin of the Kingdom of Lothriel”. The young man turned the long pen between his fingers for a while, then timidly but convincingly made his first marks on the paper. He raised his glance toward his foster-father’s, seeking his approval. Helewen looked at the page, took in his hand and tore it in pieces, to the fifteen-years-old’s bewilderment. “Do not write in Arionvallis characters. Use the hieratic alphabet instead”.

“But why utilizing the holy alphabet, my lord, to compose memoirs?” Domenir asked.

“Because those alphabetic character, revealed by the Gods to my people, who then taught them to the other races, although they are now known and currently used only by a few learned men, are the signs of the only language spread throughout the known world! Thus, what you shall write, can be read by all the civilized people of this continent. Men, divided into the eight lines Arion, Fhegòlnori, Duharion, Noghardroi, Onifaroi, Pegmenjabari, Rodiarion and Welahirin. The Elves called Asi. The Giants of the Sandarion people. The Gottilsi Dwarves. And even the people who dwell in the underground, the great realm of Hagardtyh. This is the reason why all the most important books are written in the Pirin alphabet, the universal language.

Domenir then tried to write again, on a new leaf of papyrus

Domenir then tried to write again, on a new leaf of papyrus, the title decided by Helewen, this time using the ancient signs of the Lothriel alphabet. His hand now seemed slightly more insecure, his writing less elegant. Although Domenir had taken calligraphy lessons from the best masters in his town, anyway he had been born in a country, Arionvallis (the land of the Men of the West), that had by and large forgotten that language, keeping it for the liturgy in the temples, the trials in courts, the scientific treatises, the dust of the libraries, as a dead language.

Helewen came closer to the boy, took his hand, and using it as though it were his own hand, he wrote the final letters of that title in such a perfect calligraphy that it looked as a carver’s work. For the Pirin, hieratic was everyday language: temple language, market language, theatre language, palace language, smithy language, and cornfield language.

“Alas, Domenir, try harder. Look at my writing… it is not too difficult. It only takes some elegance… some lightness. Each letter of the alphabet must look like… a sprout… bending, blooming, and eventually… flowering in tiny decorations of different looks. There, do you see?”

And, after having kept the boy’s hand in his to write the first title, Helewen brought it down, guiding the slender quill into writing a subtitle, and Domenir read, letter after letter, awaiting the second phrase to take form under his eyes. “How the Realm of Lothriel was created”. Helewen left the boy’s hand, letting him carry on by himself, but carefully watching over the writing as much as the tale.