Season I | Episode I | Chapter III

They all sit in a circle by the round window. Grandma, who’s sitting opposite Tarrick, pulls on the bronze latch. The old suitcase screeches open. Prothea covers her ears. Tarrick barely notices; he’s too absorbed by this moment. For it feels like a moment, the kind you hold your breath for. He can’t see inside the suitcase, but he can see Grandma above the opened top. Her face crinkles into a smile. Melancholy shines behind her glasses. As if she were seeing an old acquaintance.

“This… is a Chronicler’s best friend,” she says.

Or an old friend, it seems.

“What’s a Chronicler?” asks Tarrick.

Grandma’s eyes are razor-sharp when she looks at him. She spins the suitcase around and he can see inside. The suitcase is neatly organized in three sections. Leather-bound journals await him in one section. They look deliciously old. When he flips through their dust-smelling pages, he realizes they’re blank. All of them. Entirely blank. In the next section, there’s an ink pot, a feather pen, and a few spare ink bottles. Everything one might need for calligraphy. The third section tells him a lot less about what a Chronicler is. Tucked neatly in a corner is a pile of old-fashioned parchment maps. They’re old, which means they’re outdated, and every map is outdated when every year, the world changes at the pace of natural disasters. As far as Tarrick knows, there could still be a desert and a town over there, but he can’t be sure.

Tarrick puts down the maps. “Is a Chronicler… a writer?”

“Something like that.” Grandma taps her white snout. “Let me tell you a story.”

Tarrick leans closer and listens.

“A long time ago, there was Moffram. She was one of the poor souls who lived through the first Affliction Day. They say she was kind and unashamedly curious. Moffram was a powerful Academist, part of those few with an Affinity for Meaning. These people can imbue Meaning into objects, this power keeps us alive through these disasters nowadays. Well, Moffram came up with the idea of using Meaningful objects to protect people from the Afflictions. That idea travelled fast and soon, it saved countless lives. Villages and cities can be rebuilt in a matter of a day or two now! But Moffram wasn’t satisfied.”

Grandma took a dramatic pause. Prothea lies down on her back, eyes closed, enjoying a warm spot in the sunlight, but Tarrick knows she’s listening. Her ear is perked up.

“Moffram was curious about the way the world works. She loved mysteries. How do people in far off places deal with Affliction Day? How do they use Meaning in their daily lives? What kind of creatures live out there, undiscovered? So she became the first Chronicler. She travelled far and wide to compile…”

Grandma stops, as if to look for the right word.

“Everything.”

“Everything? Like what?” Tarrick asks.

Grandma's eye twinkle. “You'll know when you see it.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“I’m getting there. Moffram was the curious sort. But she was also never satisfied. Some say she travelled too far. What people say doesn’t matter. What matters is: one day, she disappeared. No one knows how or why, but she was gone. She didn’t leave nothing behind, though. She left her journals, imbued with Meaning. The same journals you’re holding in your hands. She also left behind an apprentice who would continue her work as a Chronicler. For you see, after the apprentice copied Moffram’s adventures, the journals erased themselves. For the purpose of a Chronicler is always to start again. The world rewrites itself every year; there’s always something new to see or discover.”

“But what’s all this to do about me?”

Grandma’s shoulders sink. “Moffram’s apprentice taught an apprentice, who taught an apprentice, who taught an apprentice. Years ago, I, too, was taught the craft of a Chronicler. I travelled far and wide, like Moffram before me, until I met your grandfather and settled down here.”

Grandma stops talking. She opens her mouth. Closes it. It looks painful when she pushes the words out:

“Your father was my apprentice.”

Tarrick’s breath catches in his throat.

“My… father?”

“My dear Jorty. He was trained. He travelled. Then, he met your mother and settled down to raise you. That’s what tends to happen with Chroniclers, though not all of them do. Some continue well into their old age. But they all teach an apprentice. My son… Your father never got the chance.”

“Because of Affliction Day three years ago.”

Grandma shakes away the pain. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t teach you.”

“Me.” Tarrick gapes at her. “You’re really considering… me… to be…?” He sputters. “I mean, I’m flattered, Grandma, but I’m not… but… ” The thoughts jumble in his mind. There’s so much to consider. How can he sell books while, at best, on the run? How will they eat? How will they live? Still, he presses on: “I can't go on my own! I can't leave you here! I’ve got the Lennox and you and Fina and Prothea and…”

“That's why I'm coming with you! And on the Lennox, too!”

“What?”

“You own a boat, Tarrick! Use it!”

“But…”

“It feels like I’ve been waiting all my life for this!” Grandma leaps up to her feet. He’s never seen her this agile before. She talks fast and the words blur past her mouth. “Or, well, the past few years until you’d graduate school and would be free enough to leave this dreadfully boring town.”

“You love living here,” Prothea deadpans, talking for the first time.

But Grandma isn’t listening. Her paws are clasped together and she’s looking up. “Ah, to live the good old days again, to see the world!”

“Wait, Grandma!”

“How many dangerous adventures await us? What kind of monsters will we face?”

“Grandma!”

“The life of a Chronicler. How exciting!”

“No, Grandma!” Tarrick’s voice rings in his own ears. He rises to his feet. “I can’t leave High Tobain. I can’t! It’s not… I want to. But I simply can’t! Cannot! Don’t you see?” Tarrick grabs his ears and pulls down. “There is nothing you can tell me that will convince me to be the next Chronicler!”

Early the next morning, Tarrick is packing his bags.

Tarrick’s hands tremble as he finishes tying his bag’s straps. He looks around. It didn’t take long to empty the few things he’d left at Grandma’s house when he moved out. The rest is already inside the Lennox. Yesterday was three-hundred-and-sixty-five days until Affliction Day. Now, there’s only three-hundred-and-sixty-four days left. The tiniest ray of light filters in through the window. It’s really, really early in the morning. No one in High Tobain rises before the sunrise. That’s why it’s called the sunrise; it rises first. Tarrick feels heavy. Not just from the lack of sleep. He feels heavy thinking about what’s happening right now. He’s leaving. He’s really leaving. Towards… who knows? Deadly serpents? Stormy skies? This is foolish. No, worse. This is dangerous. Grandma is going to get them all killed. Or worse.

Is there anything worse than being killed?

Tarrick looks at the door. Maybe this isn’t… so bad. There’s a little voice inside him telling him rebellious things. If Grandma’s not happy, maybe he should be doing this for her. Keep watch over her. He brightens at the thought. Right. That’s a good point. He’ll consider it like this: he’s going with her and he’ll chronicle their journey. Keep them safe. And sooner rather than later, they’ll come back home. Safe.

That’s the important part. Being safe. And coming home.

Tarrick breathes in. Breathes out.

All right. Time to go.

Grandma and Prothea are waiting for Tarrick on the front porch. Grandma has wrapped an old, almost faded shawl around her shoulders. She’s sitting on the swing and one back paw pushes on the ground to make it go back and forth. A steady rythm. One paw holds onto the shawl and the other absentmindedly stares into the distance. She doesn’t even see him, at first. And he’s never seen Grandma like this. So calm and peaceful. Contemplative. Gazing out into the distance.

Tarrick clears his throat.

Grandma brightens at him.

“You’re ready? Let’s go!”

Fog clings to the mountains as Tarrick, Grandma and Prothea walk down the hill. They turn east of the path, towards the river dock. The Lennox awaits. Solemn. Yet, not alone. Tarrick smiles for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, it seems. The cubs of High Tobain have all come to see him leave. They’re here. All here! Some are yawning and rubbing at their eyes. But they’re here! Ralofina suddenly points.

“There he is!”

The ground rumbles under the footfalls of a dozen pairs of paws. A crowd runs to him and a dozen pairs of arms wrap around him. Tarrick almost falls backwards, but Grandma keeps him upright with a push of her cane. Tarrick grins at Grandma and she smiles back. He laughs. The kind of laugh that releases all tension in your bones in stressful times. Tarrick blinks away tears of mirth. He didn’t want to leave before he could see them. He really didn’t.

“You all came!”

“Of course, we did, Tarry!” Ralofina put her fists on her hips. “You thought we’d let you leave without saying goodbye? How rude!”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

There’s not a dry eye as Grandma, Prothea and him finish packing the Lennox. Tarrick counts again in his head. Enough food, enough water, enough potions in case someone gets sick, enough ropes… The steel shields are operational, the sails are sewn tight, the motor sputters to life. And they have enough books to sell for a lifetime. Check, check, check, check. Good. They’re ready.

“Tarry!”

Tarrick lets Grandma take the helm and looks out the captain’s cabin.

“What?”

Ralofina smiles. A tearful one. “Come back with more books!”

He waves with his bicorn hat. “You know me too well! Goodbye, cubs!”

“Goodbye, goodbye!”

Thus they release the Lennox from its dock. And they’re off.