30 November 2004
The court of Iravati wanted absolutely everything. There were scribes working around the clock, between the process of translation and transcription. My notes were in German, and they wanted the end result to be their own local language as well as having a copy in the original German just in case; sadly, I was the only person present who would read German. So I would sit for hours each day, providing a shared Enochian translation of my notes, which they would then use to make their own translation. In the process, they would ask me for more information or clarification or personal experiences, and I would relate as much as I could. As my guide, Akshainie was required to be present for every word, and while the content seemed occasionally interesting to her, the activity itself was obviously wearing on her nerves.
When we were not doing that, however, all of her pent up energy needed to be spent. She gave me an exhaustive tour of Iravati, a lavish realm of gardens and flowing water and long, winding paths. I met almost every naga she knew, and her family had much to say and no desire to translate it for me. We would spend time each day sparring, as she taught me bits of her own fighting style and I taught her some of mine. Aside from the education, the discussion was always the same: she wanted to know absolutely everything I had experienced in my confrontations with the cult, especially the Barzai, and she was eager to tell me how the cult members she faced tried to stand against her. Then we would usually end up in a garden somewhere, laying in the cool grass and watching the sky, eating fruit unseen by mortal eyes for hundreds of generations, usually in silence. She asked, once, what it was like where I was from. By the end of trying to describe southern West Germany, she said she would like to see it someday, but in a manner that suggested the conversation was over. Some days later, she asked where I was really from; I told her I never lived there, at least not long enough to remember it, and we never spoke of my origins again.
I learned that time passed differently in Iravati, at the whim of the Great Naga, and that we had done months of work in the span of a couple weeks in the world of man. When I was finally called back before the Queen, the work of translating into Enochian was complete, and the scribes had made some significant progress in translating it from there. The Queen was given a brief, in Enochian, of all we had discussed.
"You provide a compelling case," she announced, as Akshainie and I stood in the center of her chamber. "Your descriptions of this Barzai are most concerning. And your role in creating him, no less so."
"It is a matter of some disturbance for me, as well," I replied.
"So it seems. Akshainie has testified to me already of your sincerity in this mission, and I see no alternative to such a threat but to offer the support of Iravati in your work."
"Thank you, your majesty. Might I ask what the nature of this support would be?"
"We will provide any information we gather on this Brood of Nachash, I have sent messengers to the waters of the world toward this end. More relevant to your own experiences, however, I have decided to task Akshainie with joining your quest." Akshainie tensed and straightened up. I glanced over and could see the surprise and a million questions forming behind her eyes, but she maintained her composure.
"If that is your wish, my queen," she answered.
"It is. Prepare for your journey, Akshainie. You are both to depart as soon as you are able." We both nodded and were escorted out of the room. Akshainie was silent, but visibly upset, as we made our way back to her chambers. I decided it was best not to press just yet. It was the work of an hour for her to gather her supplies and some food for the road, speak with her family, and take on a human appearance. As we made our way to the gate of the river, she finally turned her attention to me.
"Will I need to wear a human guise all the time?" she asked.
"Not all the time. But a lot of it," I answered.
"It is bothersome. These legs are impractical! How do you tolerate them?"
"I suppose I've never thought about it."
"It is going to be a great deal of effort to look human so often."
"You get used to it," I said, as the gate opened before us and the sunlight hit us.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I picked up my bag and walked forward.
"Come on, we have work to do."
"Benedict!" she yelled, grabbing her own bag. "You tell me what that means!"
"Are you coming?" She groaned and ran to me, tripping on a stone near the edge of the river. I caught her, and helped her back to her feet.
"Very impractical," she muttered, as we set off.
Evidence compiled for use during the trial of Father Benedict de Monte.