Cori imagined herself as a tiny flea walking down the spiral of a goat’s horn, like the goats her mother kept. These steps were carved into the earth though, going down seemingly endlessly, and the light from the oil lamps cast round shadows so one could not forget the subtle spiral. The ceiling was lower than she remembered but she had not entered The Down Spire since the death of her grandfather when she was very small. Now fully grown and of average height she could almost touch the sloping if stepped on her tiptoes or with a little jump. She tried neither though. Instead she brought her attention back to the grey robed figure in front of her, Haifa. Elder Haifa was a Master Scrivener but Cori couldn’t imagine them being any older than her mother. Is that really old enough to be called elder?
“Here.” Haifa said and startled Cori; she had grown so accustomed to the soft rhythm of their footfalls. Haifa looked over their shoulder at Cori but immediately looked back at the wall on the outside of the curve. From waist high to near the ceiling were small little openings carved into the wall and in each one sat a small handmade statue. Cori could not guess what made any of these different from the hundreds they had past or the hundreds that waited ahead and below.
“This is the first interred that was made of foreign substance. Historians theorize that that this was during the beginning of our relations with the peoples to the north and some suggest this might represent the first intermarriages between the cultures. I disagree. For one, that seems more fantasy than theory and for second, we all know that rare or prized materials mean very little to the artificers. Of course you know, more common than ever, we have people attempting bribe the clerics and the artificers to carve gold and crystal for themselves or their loved ones but the bribes must not be accepted. To do such is a great sacrilege.“ They said in clear and well-practiced tones as someone that had walked up and down these stairs many times with many novices.
“Yes.” Cori said and felt an unnecessary amount of pressure. This was a tour of her new home and workplace after all, not a test.
“The first landing is the eight hundred and ninth step, three hundred and twelve steps from here. The novice dormitories are on the fourth landing.” Haifa explained and continued their journey down. “Don’t worry though; we will take a rest at the first. You have been there before but maybe do not remember the refectory. When it is not being used for ceremonies it is where the occupants of the Down Spire take our meals and socialize.”
“Yes.” Cori said stiltedly then added, “I mean, I do remember. When we came it was warm and smelled like rosemary.” At the mention of warmth she pulled her knit shawl over her shoulders, the only luxury she had brought from home. She wore a plain white shift under her favorite red dress (with deep pockets) and a pair of soft leather shoes. Everything else had been tidily packed away for when she would return to visit her family or sold at market since the Order of Remembrance would be giving her the uniform of a novice which along with several sets of her uniform included a pair of lovely hard soled leather shoes.
“Perhaps you should have joined the Cooks Corp instead.” The elder remarked, “A nose that keen would be much appreciated. The scriveners are lucky to have spotted your hand before someone else snatched you up.” Cori didn’t know how to respond to the complement or the teasing but luckily Haifa did not force one from her. Instead the soft rhythm of their footsteps again replaced the sound of their voices.
***
Cori shivered and pulled her shawl on over the thin nightgown that had been one of the many articles given to her from the third landing stores. It was autumn above, a world away, and cool down in the spire. Not unbearable but colder than she had expected. The sheer exhaustion of walking some thousand of steps probably did not help nor did the terrible aches in her legs. She took in the small plain room that was all her own filled with ancient furniture. A simple small bed, a chest of drawers with a small dusty mirror hanging over it, and, of course, a writing desk and chair. Despite the cold and the aches after she combed out her long brown hair and crawled under her heavy blanket she fell immediately into desperate sleep.
***
“You get used to it faster than you think.” Another novice, Eudicot, said to her as she shambled into the refectory and took a seat.
“What?” She asked and stared at the young man she had met the day before during her tour of the second landing study. The morning bell had felt like an assault on her entire body as it rang through the dormitories and echoed endlessly. Her room was dark and empty. Her things were still there but her family was not and somehow she had not been prepared for the first time in her memory of waking up in a room other than the small bedroom she shared with her brother in their mother's small home.
"All of it. The stairs, the loneliness. I have have six younger ones and sometimes I miss their hollering when I wake up in the morning but then I go home for holiday and can't wait to get back to the peace and quiet." He explained around mouthfuls of barley porridge. He had a pleasant face and hair lighter than her own tied back at his neck. Like most of the other novices he wore a black dress like hers but wore a blue surcoat unlike her black. Some of the other students had chosen pants and blouses to wear under their surcoats but they were by far the minority. It was practicality she was told when she received her things on the third landing. Most chose the dresses for the freedom of movement and the newest scriveners wore all black because it would be impervious to their inevitable accidents with the ink and made less work for those on laundry duty. Practiced novices were allowed to wear deep blue and those that were ready to ascend to journeymen wore vibrant orange.
"Oh. I think I might die of the fire in my legs before I have a chance." She said but managed a smile in response to his cheerfulness.
"Eat up." He said and pointed with his spoon at her bowl as he stood up to take his own empty bowl back to the kitchen. "There's about a quarter hour left for ablutions and the cleaners don't take kindly to stragglers holding them up."
“Here.” Haifa said and startled Cori; she had grown so accustomed to the soft rhythm of their footfalls. Haifa looked over their shoulder at Cori but immediately looked back at the wall on the outside of the curve. From waist high to near the ceiling were small little openings carved into the wall and in each one sat a small handmade statue. Cori could not guess what made any of these different from the hundreds they had past or the hundreds that waited ahead and below.
“This is the first interred that was made of foreign substance. Historians theorize that that this was during the beginning of our relations with the peoples to the north and some suggest this might represent the first intermarriages between the cultures. I disagree. For one, that seems more fantasy than theory and for second, we all know that rare or prized materials mean very little to the artificers. Of course you know, more common than ever, we have people attempting bribe the clerics and the artificers to carve gold and crystal for themselves or their loved ones but the bribes must not be accepted. To do such is a great sacrilege.“ They said in clear and well-practiced tones as someone that had walked up and down these stairs many times with many novices.
“Yes.” Cori said and felt an unnecessary amount of pressure. This was a tour of her new home and workplace after all, not a test.
“The first landing is the eight hundred and ninth step, three hundred and twelve steps from here. The novice dormitories are on the fourth landing.” Haifa explained and continued their journey down. “Don’t worry though; we will take a rest at the first. You have been there before but maybe do not remember the refectory. When it is not being used for ceremonies it is where the occupants of the Down Spire take our meals and socialize.”
“Yes.” Cori said stiltedly then added, “I mean, I do remember. When we came it was warm and smelled like rosemary.” At the mention of warmth she pulled her knit shawl over her shoulders, the only luxury she had brought from home. She wore a plain white shift under her favorite red dress (with deep pockets) and a pair of soft leather shoes. Everything else had been tidily packed away for when she would return to visit her family or sold at market since the Order of Remembrance would be giving her the uniform of a novice which along with several sets of her uniform included a pair of lovely hard soled leather shoes.
“Perhaps you should have joined the Cooks Corp instead.” The elder remarked, “A nose that keen would be much appreciated. The scriveners are lucky to have spotted your hand before someone else snatched you up.” Cori didn’t know how to respond to the complement or the teasing but luckily Haifa did not force one from her. Instead the soft rhythm of their footsteps again replaced the sound of their voices.
***
Cori shivered and pulled her shawl on over the thin nightgown that had been one of the many articles given to her from the third landing stores. It was autumn above, a world away, and cool down in the spire. Not unbearable but colder than she had expected. The sheer exhaustion of walking some thousand of steps probably did not help nor did the terrible aches in her legs. She took in the small plain room that was all her own filled with ancient furniture. A simple small bed, a chest of drawers with a small dusty mirror hanging over it, and, of course, a writing desk and chair. Despite the cold and the aches after she combed out her long brown hair and crawled under her heavy blanket she fell immediately into desperate sleep.
***
“You get used to it faster than you think.” Another novice, Eudicot, said to her as she shambled into the refectory and took a seat.
“What?” She asked and stared at the young man she had met the day before during her tour of the second landing study. The morning bell had felt like an assault on her entire body as it rang through the dormitories and echoed endlessly. Her room was dark and empty. Her things were still there but her family was not and somehow she had not been prepared for the first time in her memory of waking up in a room other than the small bedroom she shared with her brother in their mother's small home.
"All of it. The stairs, the loneliness. I have have six younger ones and sometimes I miss their hollering when I wake up in the morning but then I go home for holiday and can't wait to get back to the peace and quiet." He explained around mouthfuls of barley porridge. He had a pleasant face and hair lighter than her own tied back at his neck. Like most of the other novices he wore a black dress like hers but wore a blue surcoat unlike her black. Some of the other students had chosen pants and blouses to wear under their surcoats but they were by far the minority. It was practicality she was told when she received her things on the third landing. Most chose the dresses for the freedom of movement and the newest scriveners wore all black because it would be impervious to their inevitable accidents with the ink and made less work for those on laundry duty. Practiced novices were allowed to wear deep blue and those that were ready to ascend to journeymen wore vibrant orange.
"Oh. I think I might die of the fire in my legs before I have a chance." She said but managed a smile in response to his cheerfulness.
"Eat up." He said and pointed with his spoon at her bowl as he stood up to take his own empty bowl back to the kitchen. "There's about a quarter hour left for ablutions and the cleaners don't take kindly to stragglers holding them up."
