the ivory tower -- stars 4400

[knickknacks]

adopt page -- my post


It is the nature of cats to be curious and cautious in one. The All-Maker created them so, that they would have the hunger to learn and grow, and the sense to be wary of danger.

It is said also that when Melinöe came into this world, she possessed all of the former, and very little indeed of the latter...

[knickknacks]

“There are many areas in which records of the saints have been lost, or forgotten altogether.. Tales of their ascensions and great deeds are passed on and recorded in loving detail- but those tales cannot capture the whole of a cat who, for much of their life, was mortal like any other. It is a pitfall of our current understanding, that so much attention is paid to the divine aspects, while ignoring the steps that led a cat to the point of sainthood. It is my belief that in studying their lives we may better understand how we, living in their wake, ought to conduct ourselves in turn…”

“To the frustration of many devotees and scholars, no records of Melinöe’s early life exist. Through being either lost or destroyed, we may only guess at where the eventual saint of such renown might have had her beginnings. Melinöe kept meticulous journals of her studies, and wrote prolifically through her youth, but we know of no such writings before her arrival at the Myrian Academy. What is known for sure is that the first written record that names Melinöe is a registry of students, dated from the year XXX, when she first began her schooling…”

In truth, she grew up nowhere of consequence, though no modern record will ever know of it.

Melinöe’s birthplace was a simple seaside village, long since uninhabited and forgotten. The increasing intensity of storms on the northern edges of the continent worked quickly to erode the coasts in the decades after Melinöe’s life, and any residents who might have known her were scattered and relocated to places unknown.

But for the time it existed, the village was a peaceful place, a collection of thatched cottages and swaying blue coastal grasses. A beaten dirt path led from the rocky beaches farther inland, to the stone well from which residents drew their fresh water, and farther on to the uneven fields where they eked out a living from the dirt, farming on what may as well have been the edge of the world. A few of them possessed small boats, and were able to supplement the local crop yields with fish and shellfish from the sea.

Melinöe grew up with no siblings, or similarly aged playmates. Before she was of age to help her parents or neighbors in the fields or fisheries, she was then left to occupy herself, with very little in the way of watchful eyes. This did not trouble Melinöe as much as it might have another: early on it was noticed that she did not seem to mind the solitude, happily occupying herself by playing amongst the sea grasses, climbing along the rocky coast. She would chase birds, taking note of their varying plumage, and watch distant ships go by, asking about the colors of their flags and where they might have hailed from. When storms roiled overhead, as they often did, she would watch the rolling clouds with wide, enthralled eyes, staying outside as long as possible before the winds picked up and the stinging rain started to fall. She would run home, beaming, when her parents called, relating what she had seen in terms oddly detailed for a kitten of her age, reckless in her curiosity.

That was another thing they noticed about her, early on: Melinöe seemed, by all accounts, to have a perfect memory. They did not have much in the way of paper or written records in that far-flung village, but Melinöe was discovered to be able to recall and recite the many stories they passed by word of mouth, nearly without flaw. When she was old enough to assist in the fields she would retain instructions without needing to be reminded, and always found her way home unassisted, regardless of how far she wandered in the day’s work, almost reckless in her certainty.

With what few books they had, she learned to read, voraciously fast, and quickly became hungry for more. Here was a way of experiencing things she had not yet seen, or things that did not exist at all! She hoarded books as treasures, dogearing and scrawling in their margins, gleaning all she could from them. Her parents and neighbors saw how she hungered for more, and sought to sate that appetite before she ran herself ragged in her restlessness. One of them, returning from an inland trip to a city on the great sands, brought back with them as a present for Melinöe the largest book she had ever seen.

They called it a ‘compendium,’ and Melinöe was enthralled by it. Here in the book’s pages were more subjects than she had known existed! Ones she had begun, in her own way, to study but had not known how to name; things she had never imagined; beautifully rendered illustrations of things yet unknown to her. As she flipped through the pages of her new treasure, it was as though a spark was lit within her. Her hunger for more abated, for a time- and with it, so did her usefulness in the fields. Melinöe, not the strongest of cats, had never been a gifted farmhand to begin with. She could follow directions, but would easily become distracted by things like a distant birdcall or an unfamiliar weed. With her compendium, all pretense at an interest in farming was dropped: she would be found leaning on her tools, reading instead of working, or curled within the tall blue grass, scanning passages with hungry eyes. Her compendium had opened up a world to her, and as it grew well-worn and annotated and memorized she felt that need for more seize her with its burning claws once more. What else might be waiting for her, outside of her lonely village?

The neighbor that had brought the compendium for her had spoken of the Myrian archives. She wondered: could what she sought be there? More compendiums, more chances for her to learn? Her neighbors encouraged to go. Her parents, a bit more hesitant, also agreed. They worried for her despite believing her mind too sharp to go to waste, and helped her pack her few belongings, her careworn compendium, with trembling paws.

Melinöe was not similarly worried- she felt that bright spark again, lighting a trail before her, and would not have been surprised to see her paws sparking with energy. The secrets she craved knowledge of lay beyond the horizon, and the words of her compendium were barely a drop in the sea of the things she would come to know.

She left, and she did not look back.

[knickknacks]

“We know considerably more about Melinöe’s life once she started her schooling– or, at least, the period she spent at the Myrian archives. Records of student standings show Melinöe suffered a bit of a learning curve during her first few terms at the school, but quickly came to excel and score highly among her peers. A few early essays of hers have been recovered, and while not exceptional in and of themselves, are regarded fondly as early works of a saint, and used as examples for beginning students.

Despite these more academic records, little is known about Melinöe on a personal scale. No accounts of her personality or relationships with peers exist, either in notes recovered from teachers, or scholars who would have been her contemporaries at the time. A few of her own journals from this era have survived, but make no real mention of the others around her, being almost solely academic in nature. Were it not for her listing in the student registry, it would almost be as if Melinöe had never set foot within the Myrian archives…”

When she first set foot in the city, it overwhelmed her.

The Myrian archives of that age were not quite so expansive as they would come to be in the future, at the time only comprising a handful of clean sandstone buildings, with the beginnings of a town springing up around the outskirts. Still, it was many times larger than Melinöe’s distant home. The difference in climate was also stark: Melinöe had grown up used to cool, humid sea breezes, to salt-smelling air and cloudy skies. The Myrian archives were situated on the outskirts of the great desert, not fully nestled within the sands, but the dry heat and ever-present sun saw Melinöe hiding indoors as often as possible. In her home village the landscape had not been inviting, storm-ridden and on the edge of the world, but the surroundings had been easy enough for a child to explore and find her way back home again. The hazy stretch of sands all around her new home discouraged solo exploration of the type she had grown up doing- to venture alone into the dunes was a fool’s errand. Melinöe read more than one book explaining the dangers of mirages, of cats lost amid unmapped dunes, and shivered at the words.

Despite the discomfort of the heat, the new setting held plentiful wonders for young Melinöe: new animals and plants to take stock of, new foods to try, and most of all the archives themselves. The central building, wrought of sandstone and polished granite, was larger than any structure she had ever been in. The corridors hosting visitors, resident scholars, and students like herself were always busy to some degree, thronging with cats from all across the continent. The majority of the population were large-eared desert-dwelling cats, but she also saw thick-furred residents of the mountains, and one or two jungle cats who wove their way through the crowds with nimble paws. Everything around her was new, and Melinöe felt herself gripped by the same urgent hunger that had become a familiar companion as she beheld it all. Her first night there found her unable to sleep from excitement, staring at the low sandstone ceiling and reciting facts from her compendium in her head. If she could not yet explore the sandy stretch of the desert, she would devote herself to mastering everything else the archives had to offer.

But mastery does not come in one night, no matter how hard one wishes for it. And though Melinöe was brilliant beyond any doubt, she was still only self-taught, educated by word of mouth and the world around her. Much of her practical knowledge was oriented to farming, poor though she had been at it, and to the northern coastal regions she called home; the dry haze of the desert, the burgeoning city, and the bustle of academia were all new to her. She had, in her youth, faced things that were new with nothing but good cheer and curiosity, and been lauded for it by her family and neighbors. Now, in this unfamiliar place, she felt the first touches of anxiety: would she be able to fit in? Would she ever? The cats around her seemed to navigate the archives with ease, abiding by some set of unspoken rules, ones she did not know how to start learning. There were no books on how to conduct oneself in class, no guide on how to have academic conversations without making a fool of herself.

Her first term of lessons was spent shrinking, aware now more than ever of how much she did not know. Melinöe kept her eyes wide, ears pricked, and mouth firmly shut, little more than a ghost. She would often sequester herself in her room to read, hidden away from all the cats who moved with that certainty she lacked. Hidden away, nestled against her single threadbare blanket, she could sometimes pretend she was back home, sprawled out reading in the blue grasses while the sea breezes ruffled her fur. It was easier, that way, to feel how she had as a child, calling back the same wonder she felt opening her compendium for the first time, freed from this new and awful doubt for a moment.

At her lowest point she wondered if it might be better to leave the archives and return home. But every time she did so, the sinking uncertainty was outweighed by the need that had brought her to leave home in the first place. If she left, she knew that all the things she had left unlearned would be a torment. She could not go back, not with empty paws and a mind unchanged and the same worn compendium as before. More than that, she did not want to leave. That spark within her, the curiosity that had drawn her to the archives to begin with, jolted with new fervor, crying to be fed. There was so much yet that she did not know, and only by staying could she master it all.

In time the archive’s halls became familiar to Melinöe, until she could tread them with as much ease as the beaten paths back home. Her thoughts no longer wandered to stormy seas and swaying grass, overtaken by new subjects. Her eagerness to learn flared bright once more, catching the attention of those around her. None quite knew where she had come from, this dusty-looking cat who had arrived with only a satchel of belongings, and an outdated compendium. A mix of awe and envy came to follow her as she stoked curious rumors in her peers, who saw her high marks but had never once heard her speak.

Melinöe was brilliant, it was clear, but also distant. She did not hear the compliments others spoke of her, having resolved to study without distraction. She could not face others, could not fit into this bustle at the archives until she knew more. She could not, she believed, call herself a scholar. Not yet, when there was so much left for her to learn. She did not understand when other students tried to stop her in the hallways, trying to start conversation, asking her questions. She did not have the answers she wanted– not yet, but someday she would. At every opportunity she would edge away, all but sparking with energy, her hunger for knowledge burning feverishly hot. Her mind could not sit still.

[knickknacks]

“Today marks a shift from my studies in geology to study in botany. Though the two disciplines are rather separate, there is a certain thematic progression to them in my mind: moving from studying the ground beneath our paws to studying the things that grow in and on it… ah, but I am rambling. I don’t suppose anyone will ever read this, but I apologize anyways for the unscientific nature of these remarks. The archives’ collection on this topic is somewhat lacking in surveys from certain areas of the world–the mountains of Essemin, for example, would be quite difficult to survey properly–but will make for a good start…”

“One of the only other known records of Melinöe’s time at the Myrian archives was lost for quite some time, being found in a rather obscure journal belonging to an archivist* who had worked during her lifetime. It is only a brief mention, and the writer neither names themself nor Melinöe, only remarking that ‘the young spotted cat is back again… she has been going through books at a frankly terrifying speed. If I didn’t know better I would think she was trying to work her way through the entire archive!’ It is admittedly a work of conjecture to suppose that this refers to Melinöe, but this behavior would fit with what we know of this period of her life. Following her studies, Melinöe appears to have stayed in the city, possibly at the archives themselves. The details of where or how she lived remain a mystery: one must assume she spent this time studying, but so few records save for her own exist that some theorize she spent this period in near-complete isolation…”

*This archivist’s journal is an incomplete source, with many pages seeming to have been lost or damaged. Only this one passing potential reference to Melinöe remains…

“I have shifted now into a focus on astronomy. How beautiful, that the stars are used as guidance in this way. If you will permit another unscholarly ramble from me, journal, I cannot help but wish for some similar form of guidance. I am learning more than I ever have, free of distractions and with the archive’s resources at my disposal, and yet I feel as a sailor adrift, one who has not yet figured out how to read the stars.

To put it more simply: I am missing something. I know I am.

But it does not matter. I will uncover it, soon enough.”

“When I first arrived in the city I found the noise to be distracting. I wished more than ever for the quiet isolation of my home town, away from the crowds and those who look at me as though I know all the answers. But now that I am here, now that I have all the quiet I could need and all the books I could ever hope to learn from, it is… too still. My mind is clearer than it has ever been and yet it does not feel right, all this solitude. But if I were to emerge now I would be met with even more questions–more distractions–than before.

I must return to my studies. No more of these musings… I ought to have finished that chapter on the Floodplain Wars by now.”

(the paper is heavily creased, as though it was crumpled and tossed away before being found and smoothed out again…)

“What am I missing?”