21 - Azal

       A tray is brought to me, and the servant pauses for a moment, seeking an empty place to set it down for me. I wave a hand vaguely at her.
       “I am not hungry. You need not find room for it, I do not need it.”
       She continues gazing around, and finds a small table in the corner of the room. Balancing the tray with all the precarious grace of a circus performer, she holds it while lifting the table, and bringing it over nearer to me. She places the table a meter or so from me, near enough that I might reach it, yet not so near that I would accidentally knock it over. She sets the tray upon the table, and gazes at me a moment as she straightens up. I can sense the satisfaction from her, and cannot help but look up and chuckle softly.
       “Do not always flaunt my requests in such a manner, my desert flower. But I appreciate the break in predictability. Thank you, you may go now.”
       A mysterious smile curls over her dark lips, and she walks with silent grace from the room, the misty swathes of fabric draped about her leaving echoes of her motions in the air. I am glad I brought so many of my servants along with me, when returning here. I find the combination of subservience and defiance quite enticing in these girls.
       On seeing the tray, I find that I am indeed somewhat hungry. It is well that I give the servants such autonomy – they are able to anticipate my needs quite thoroughly. I take the mug of spiced tea, letting its heat refresh my face, which feels as though it is coated in fine dust of ancient vellums. There is a warm damp towel on the tray, and I clean the dust from my hands before partaking of the tropical fruits arranged prettily on a plate. I am careful to sit back as I do so, not wishing to let the smallest bit of juice stain the old pages any further. They are so fragile... and I suppose the damp air of this gray city does little to allay this. Such books are best preserved in the dry desert, among the cool tombs of the dead kings who collected them, far from the threat of earth and hungry worms, safely wrapped in fine, clean sands.
       There is not so much as Meres had hoped in these books... and yet there is something. It can be so difficult, to find the truth among the thousand tangles of invented complications. I have this difficulty often, when looking through books on the calling of demons and angels, on the arts that men have now derided as “magic”. There are so many layers of mysticism and self-aggrandizing frivolities, words added merely to make the speaker sound more important, that it is difficult to find the root of the thing, the actual fact that leads to the power intended.
       The Book of Enoch. That is the one we need, I think. It seems to exist in a few fragments, but the translations are poor. I have read one translation, but it was missing large portions, and I could tell that much of it was born of sheer imagination. I suspect much of the original meaning was lost, when translated from one language to another to another, and the version I have read was obviously poorly done. I have sent word to Meres, to see if we might find an Ethiopic script – though I am wary of even that one, for though it is the only version to survive intact all these centuries... there are always errors made over time, a scribe neglects a letter here, and “low” becomes “lo”, and an accent lost changes entire meanings. And those are only the unintended changes! Doctrine demands alterations of its own, and for a book to become a part of the church's canon, there are always certain requirements made of it. Oh, mankind, you have so little respect for the written word! We should never have granted you such power, had we known what poor use you would make of it... You make thousands of copies of frivolous romances, of poems that praise a pastoral past that never was, thousands of works of fiction, that none care to read even a decade later. And you let such important fragments fall away... Those few short lines in your Bible, that is all that is left of us, of our children.
       Almost all that is left, anyway. I have made copies of the other references – and though it is in a hand and a language that no man now recalls, it is one that I can read, and hold on to.
       For oh... though I have forgotten names, I have not entirely forgotten the faces, the embraces...

       “Azal? Oh--- I did not mean to startle you, I ought to have knocked.”
       “Meres.” I look up, and paint a warm smile over my sorrowful face. “It is no trouble, I was merely lost in thought a moment. Have you anything to add to my piles?”
       He chuckles quietly, and pulls two slim volumes from under his jacket, setting them on the table. “Of course. But I'm afraid I must take a few in exchange – Mark will notice them missing soon, for he mentioned last night the direction his studies were headed, and I suspect he will need these.” He browses carefully through the piles of old books that cover the table, and selects three of them. He holds them up to view, and I nod in acknowledgement.
       “I have finished with those, and made what notes I needed. Does the man really keep this number of rare books in his study? It is quite a collection, Meres, and I must admit to being more than a little jealous!”
       “Oh, not all of these are Mark's... Many are borrowed from the seminary, and other church resources. He draws on quite a network of libraries in the course of his research. And a few... well, I may have made visits to a few other places as well,” he finishes with a wink.
       “I will ask no other questions – but if you find that there are any that will not be too terribly missed, particularly from theses other places, well... My library certainly has room to accommodate them. And I must say, I would likely take far better care of such treasures!” I gesture sorrowfully at a book whose pages are crumbling at the edges, its binding cracked, the glue lying as dust down the center of the open pages.
       “I will return no more books than I find absolute need to, my dear,” Meres replies with a chuckle, leaning over my shoulder to kiss my cheek lightly. “It is only fair, as you have spent so much time shut up in this room.”
       “I hardly mind! It helps me better ignore the bleakness of the weather here.”
       “Will you return to the deserts soon, then? The dreariness will take a turn for the worse soon, with winter approaching.”
       “Oh, I suppose I shall... I had not really thought of it yet. I do find that I have missed your company. Can I not coerce some of you to visit more often?”
       Meres smiles at this, and seems to be extraordinarily pleased by the suggestion. “I had thought of this just the other day. Do you not think the warmth would help Veri? And I should love to escape the dim gray months of winter here, and flee to a place of more vivid colors.”
       “If you believe he could be troubled to make the journey, I do think it might help him. The warm languor of those more temperate climes seem to ease many pains.” I lean back in my chair, and let my eyes close, my head falling back against Meres for a moment. He sighs thoughtfully, and strokes my hair a long moment. I know he is thinking of my recent trouble – but he worries about others far too much.
       I open my eyes and adjust my seat, pulling another book toward me. “Do continue looking for that Ethiopic version? Translations are always so poorly done, the rhythm of the names is all wrong.”
       Meres pauses a moment, then takes a step toward the door. “I will. You are alright here alone? You will let me know if I might be of any other help.”
       “Of course, my dear.” I look up, and force another smile. He smiles in return, and bows his head slightly before exiting.