“So, to summarize what we’ve covered today. The early elves of Caulem used the constellations for a wide variety of essential purposes. Most notably they used the appearance of the arrangement we now know as Andrias’ Crown as an indicator for when to plant and harvest their crops.”
Every syllable reverberating across the gaudy lecture hall was amplified by the rhythmic scratching of chalk against the large blackboard at the front. Professor David Sarif, Head of Astronomy at the prestigious Phoenix Academy, often ended his lectures with a detailed summation of what had been covered. He told his students that it was for their own benefit; the act of doing so was born out of the kindness of his heart. Those that knew him personally would remark that he simply did it to artificially extend his allotted disquisition. Sarif does like to hear himself talk, they would say.
Still, neither his students nor the Academy’s faculty could deny that Sarif’s commitment to his field and scholarly aptitude were second to none. On a clear night in Velant, the man could seemingly name every star in the sky, and tell you which astronomer had named it. In his teaching, Sarif expected a similar level of commitment from his students, and while some of his coworkers expressed that he pushed his charges too hard at times, Sarif knew that it would be a disservice to not expect the best from the brightest young minds in the Kingdom.
At least, that’s what these adolescents were supposed to be. Sarif’s recollection of the lesson and chalk scrawling came to a halt when he heard the familiar sound of giggled whispers from the middle pews. No doubt the student body were fixated on a particular facet of his personage that they could derive humor from. He briefly wondered what it was this time. His silvered hair? Perhaps they had circled back to his beak-like nose again. Pinching the bridge between his tired eyes for a moment, Sarif quickly turned and closed the gap between him and the culprits that had rudely broken the last few vestiges of silence before the chaos that was dismissal.
“Mr. Matthews. Ms. Hannar. Is there something you wish to tack on to the end of my lecture? Something you wish to share with the rest of us, perhaps?” Sarif asked. His voice was filled with courtesy, though one could hear the disdain overflowing from it if they listened carefully. While not a physically imposing figure, Sarif took many years to practice his speaking skills; his voice alone could command a rampant ogre, if needed. The two students sat attentive now, faces flushed. As Sarif’s brown eyes bore into them, he uncharacteristically allowed a satisfied smirk to creep onto his face. He took pride in his ability that, while his students were higher in elevation, he was able to look down on them.
The reverberations of the Convocation Hall’s bells broke the spell that he had managed to cast over the lecture hall. Signaling the end of the regular learning day, most of the students were already running outside before the chimes finished their daily routine.
“A reminder that you have a test tomorrow! And I will not be accepting cheat sheets that have been magically enchanted to hold more words, Mr. Jefferies!” Sarif called out unsatisfactorily. About to turn and gather his own materials, he allowed his gaze to rest on a lone pew that sat pristine near the entrance to the hall. For a year it had sat empty. It had been a year since the Kindling, a Fallen Ancient’s insidious ritual, had ravaged Arkos. Thousands of people had disappeared without warning in a whirl of blue flame, their very life essence to be used to for horrid purposes. Many of these individuals were saved and, while scattered across the planet, were eventually able to return home. Others…were not as fortunate.
“Such bright futures. Extinguished in an instant,” Sarif waxed somberly. He was never one for sentimentality. But some of his most brilliant students and coworkers had been the ones to vanish during that dreadful event. Headmaster Atris had insisted pews such as the one Sarif now stared at remain empty to serve as a memorial for these lost souls. Of course, there was no proof that these individuals were dead. They may have just re-appeared on an entirely separate continent. It was a small comfort. Sarif was tired of small comforts in a world with such large woes.
***
As evening fell, the confines of Sarif’s small, private study were lit only by the waning candle at his desk and the glowing object he held under his looking glass. While he was not attuned to it, the Chronos Crystal he had been examining these past few days hummed with dormant arcane power along its lucent structure. These objects were used to store one’s memories; if one were to attune to such a crystal, they would be able to witness the memory of that individual as if they were the person in question. Though the particular golden crystal Sarif had been staring at during these long nights seemed to suggest there may be more that one creature’s past stored within.
Sarif’s contemplative solace was swiftly interrupted by the door to his study being unceremoniously thrust open. While the study was still on Academy property, all students and staff knew not to disturb Sarif during his research, or at the very least politely knock. All except one.
“Ah, Dr. Jones. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?” Sarif feigned courtesy. He didn’t even bother turning around from his seat; perhaps if he ignored the academy’s head of archaeology he would simply leave of his own accord. Hearing the heavy footfalls of weathered travel boots coming toward him, he knew it was a futile wish.
“Cut the crap, Sarif. You know exactly why I’m here. And what are you doing, still playing with that thing? Artifacts from the Second Age are not to be taken lightly. Even you should understand that.” Jones’ last comment is what made Sarif finally set his task down and turn to address the younger, taller man.
Dr. Henry “Solanus” Jones, as he had been nicknamed by his adoring student fanbase, was the envy of many faculty members, with his well-built figure, dark browned levered jacket, and professional success at a relatively young age. It was often joked about by academy staff that Sarif was destined to become rivals with what appeared to be his polar opposite. While Jones was adventurous, fun and full of roguish charm, Sarif had always been known as the professor who took himself too seriously. Their fields of study were even in stark contrast; while Jones uncovered the remains of civilizations buried on top of one another under the ground, Sarif had turned his gaze to the stars above for as long as he could remember. Their differences were not the reasons Sarif despised Jones, however. It was their similarities.
Obviously riled, Sarif could now see the younger doctor’s face scrunched into a scowl, his fists wrapped tightly around archaeological reports that Sarif had recently made himself familiar with. Known for maintaining his composure under all circumstances, Sarif merely raised an eyebrow. “If this is about my prying into your most recent Solanian excavation, I can assure you that I went through all of the appropriate channels.”
“My assistant is not an appropriate channel, Sarif. You can’t just ask her for my documents after I explicitly told you that they weren’t your business. I don’t ask your assistant for any of your star charts, or crap like that.”
“I don’t have an assistant.”
“That’s not the point! You knew perfectly well she wouldn’t say no to you, you conniving little-”
Sarif raised a hand in defense before Jones could complete whatever vulgar moniker he was to be assigned with. To try and lower hostilities, he rose from his desk and began pouring two glasses of brandy at a side table.
“Ms. Nocri didn’t say no because she couldn’t, Dr. Jones. It’s academy policy that all department heads are able to comment on and critique any work done by any and all staff.” Waiting for the inevitable rebuttal, Sarif offered one of the now filled glasses to his adversary.
“Don’t quote academy policy to me Sarif. I told you it was private and you went behind my back. This isn’t about breaking the rules, this is about betraying my trust.”
Sarif logged that bit about breaking the rules as ammunition for later. Seeing no intention for Jones to take his peace offering, he set the glass down and took a drink of his own. This conversation was proving exhausting after an already aggravating day. If the Creator did exist, he had to have a sense of humor. Jones was the only man Sarif had ever known capable of riling him up, and he was stuck working with him. Pinching the long bridge of his nose, he gave a long sigh before trying to put this tiresome issue to rest. “If you’re this upset by my supposed betrayal, Doctor, perhaps you should take this up with the First Reader’s board.”
“I’m not taking this up with them, I’m taking this up with you David!” Jones yelled indignantly.
At the mention of his first name, Sarif felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle; his face redden. Nobody called him by his first name. To his knowledge, this was even Jones’ first offense in this regard. Though it quickly became apparent the good doctor wasn’t finished. “My notes on the Solanian beacon are not for public eyes, and especially not for yours! I don’t need you to have more conspiracy theories to share with your students. You’ve already got half of the student body believing the moons aren’t real, or that they suddenly appeared out of nowhere! You’re supposed to be a teacher, not some hack-preacher you see on the streets of Rimora!”
Sarif had long taken pride in his calm demeanor. Even during the most strenuous of teaching days, he would never raise his voice beyond a dull roar. The volume and rage with which he responded surprised even himself, but did not deter him. “I’m the hack?! Perhaps you should spend less time barging into my study unannounced and more time looking in a mirror, Doctor! If it's even appropriate to call you a member of faculty anymore. I forget, do you still work here? It’s hard to tell with the fact that you’re off galavanting somewhere half of the time, digging things up like some sort of glorified graverobber! Tell me, when was the last time any of your students received a passable lecture from you? Or even saw your face when it wasn’t reeking of sweat and dirt? And what do you have to show for your “archaeological expeditions”, hmm? A few useless trinkets we keep in the basement? Perhaps the lack of commitment you show this establishment is reflective of the fact that you can’t hold a stable relationship!”
Sarif loved a good debate; he never shied away from a classic back and forth. And that response felt good. Immature and unprofessional, but Sarif could let that slide in favor of seeing how Jones would respond. He expected ferocity; perhaps Jones would even resort to physical violence. What Sarif didn’t expect was the fact that Jones had gone quiet. There was no rebuttal; only soft movement as Jones walked over and grabbed the glass of brandy Sarif had poured for him. He downed it in one swig. This apparent defeat of Jones was somehow more infuriating for Sarif; even in his pain he was able to rob Sarif of his vindication. All of this did not change the fact that Sarif soon recognized he had gone a step too far. “I…I’m sorry, Henry. That wasn’t fair.”
Jones simply shrugged and set the vacant glass down. For all his faults, Dr. Jones was resilient in the face of danger. Or in this case, personal pain. Walking back over to the study door, he stared back at Sarif. Not with a look of anger, but one that carried a warning. “Sarif, there’s a reason that beacon was buried so deep under Mount Bestyne. The more you study archaeology, the more you discover that there are some things on Arkos that should remain lost.” His words carried a certain weight to them Sarif had not heard from the young doctor before. He wasn’t convinced, however.
“I simply don’t understand why that’s the case here. The Solanians had one of the most peaceful civilizations in the Second Age, perhaps in all of Arkos’ history. They managed to prosper in a world that had been ravaged by the Cataclysm. You know that better than anyone, Jones. They are to be envied.”
“Have you ever stopped to consider the cost of that peace, Sarif? Thought about how they obtained it? The beacon was used for enslavement.” Jones paused, a technique Sarif recognized from sitting in on a few of his lectures. It was to allow his words to sink in and be processed. “They Solanians never went to war with anyone because they didn’t have to. Whenever someone opposed or threatened them, they would strip them of their free will. Control their minds. The beacon we found in the last expedition is just one of the ways in which they achieved that level of control, who knows what else they had at their disposal. Their civilization was built on domination, Sarif.”
There was a long silence present in the dark study now. The only sound came from the Chronos Crystal’s low humming; though the light it emitted was beginning to fade. Finally, Sarif broke the peace with a simple statement. “I know.”
It took Jones a moment to respond. He had a winded expression, like he had just been punched in the gut. “Ho-...what do you mean you know?”
“This may surprise you Henry, but despite our apparent hostility I’ve always respected your work. And I’ve conducted my own research into Solanian history. And despite the abhorrent methods they used, the end result was still the best result any civilization, including ours, could hope for.”
“David, what in the seven hells are you talking about?”
Sarif lived for these moments. The ones where he could express his expert articulation to equally intelligent minds, and capture their thoughts with possibilities they may never have considered. The moments he missed when those bright students disappeared. He stretched out his arms ceremoniously. Perhaps he was more similar to a preacher than he thought. "You look at the history of any sentient species and what do you find but tableaux of violence and slaughter. It's finger painted on the ceilings of caves and engraved into the walls of temples. You’ve seen it time and time again, Jones. Dig a hole deep enough in any realm and you'll find the skulls and bones of adults and children fractured by crude weapons. Futures robbed because someone wanted more than they should have. All of us, humans and elves and dwarves, we were fighting long before we were farming and raising livestock. Violence is hardwired into most of us and there's no eliminating the impulse - not with an army or a myriad of magical threats. That's why I’ve embarked on a path to a different solution. Jones, with what you have unearthed,” Sarif stepped towards his co-worker, clasping his hands together as if in prayer. “We have a chance to forge a peace that will endure longer than this Kingdom has been in existence."
Sarif closed his eyes briefly, as he often did when he finished delivering a particularly powerful lecture. When he opened them, he was met with an emotion on Dr. Jones’ face he had never seen before. One of fear.
“Sarif, you’re talking about taking choice away from people. Robbing them of what makes them…what makes them who they are. That’s immoral on every level. It’s evil.”
“Is it evil to want to protect people? To ensure that the citizens of Velant can rest easy at night, knowing there is no threat of attack? Mothers knowing they won’t have to send their sons off to fight someone else’s war? Fathers know they can raise a daughter in a country where he can provide for her every need? Are you suggesting that free will is preferable to war? To death? To extinction? Are you forgetting what happened a year ago?!”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten!” Jones countered, though the debate Sarif had sought had come too late. “And it’s because I haven’t forgotten that I know what you are proposing is wrong. If we are as smart as people think we are, you and I are going to forget that we ever had this conversation. And it's only because of the respect I have for you as a professor that I don’t walk out of here and report you to the Justicars for talking like that.”
Sarif’s calm demeanor had finally returned, and with it a polite smile. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Forgive me, Dr. Jones. I get slightly controversial after a long day. Allow me to put your mind at ease; I shall never again pry into your documents, or anything related to your expeditions. You have my word.”
It wasn’t satisfactory, but Jones supposed it was the best offer he was going to get from the professor. As he nodded and turned to leave, Jones had a last look at Sarif from over his shoulder. Some of the students had nicknamed the astronomy professor “shepherd”. There were many reasons for the name; the polite older man rearing unintelligent animals, the relation between sheep and falling asleep in class. But for the first time, Dr. Jones saw Professor Sarif in a new light, and a new name for him resounded in his mind.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
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