107 IN THE EVENT that a barbarian horde arrives at your gates, time is of the essence. Therefore, this section is written to be short, but not necessarily thorough; for a more in-depth treatment of siege situations, consult scroll 173, verses 120-340.
First, a quick classification is in order. Would you say that the horde is motivated
a) financially
b) religiously
c) by a complex combination of socio-political factors
d) none of the above?
In each case, a different strategy will prove effective. For a), consider a gift of gold or other precious materials; vaults 10-21 are allocated for such a use. Do not cling to money, for the enclave will recoup any losses as time goes by. It is important that the horde considers the place thoroughly ransacked; consult scroll 110, verses 017-020 for a more thorough explanation of that strategy.
In case of b), dissuasion of the horde will be more difficult. Pretending at conversion is preferable to strife. However, a conversion which leaves the enclave destroyed or its leadership fully displaced is not. In that case, fight to defend the enclave at any cost, as detailed in scroll 173, verses 207-245.
If the situation is so complex as to be described by c), the barbarian horde is likely to be inhomogeneous. Consider a divide-and-conquer approach, contacting individual high-ranking members of the barbarian horde. Perhaps some of them may be persuaded through threats or bribes to leave the monastery alone.
In case of d), follow the general problem-solving flowchart outlined in scrolls 1-15, particularly the section on macro-scale political crises in scroll 7, blocks 20-37.
"What are you transcribing?"
I looked up from the scroll, and into the eyes of the head archivist. In the tiny dusty writing room, the old man seemed out of place. He was a figure I associated with the lectern in the assembly hall, and long and boring speeches. As a novice scribe, I had never talked to him in person. After all, he was the heart and mind of the enclave, more important even than the abbot. Perhaps it was because he had been around for so long. At more than eighty years, he was the oldest person in the enclave. The oldest mortal, at least.
I blushed when I noticed that my quill had been dripping ink as I stared. I scrambled to fix my mistake before I answered. "Scroll 33. I just finished verse 107."
"Ah, one of the navigational verses. What do you think of it?"
"I don't..." I trailed off. What did one say when debating scripture with the head archivist?
"Why are you hesitating?" the archivist asked.
"I'm afraid of saying something wrong. I'm only a novice, and there are many aspects of the scripture I do not understand."
"Then speak as you think," the archivist said. "Let your mistakes out into the open, so they may be corrected before they take deeper roots."
I took a deep breath. "Personally, I like it. Its purpose is clear, its theme relatable, and it provides structure and explanation. Warfare is something I dislike, but I understand that the need for it may arise. It is reassuring to know that the eventuality has been planned for since ancient times, and that we can survive by following a simple guide. All in all, it's more useful than, say, the scrolls about technology. There's so much context we're missing, millennia of development that we're forbidden from emulating. I don't understand why we transcribe those scrolls again and again when we aren't allowed to use them. Even with the litle we can understand, we could cure diseases, fertilize our fields, resurrect all the wonders of the ancient world."
The archivist smiled slightly. "All the wonders, but all the weapons and horrors as well. The ancients destroyed themselves with their technology, and in all the ages since, whenever technology rose again, its self-destruction inevitably followed. It's inherently unstable. I assume this is why you were not assigned to transcribe the technology scrolls."
I felt my heart sink. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, don't be! Your wish to take power into your own hands and better the world is understandable, and it's certainly a desired attribute in someone assigned to the warfare scrolls. Verse 107 is about understanding the enemy, is it not? Then please hold on to your desire for power, because the enclave may have use of it some day, when a warlord who has unearthed an ancient technology stands at our doors. Besides, it's only human." The archivist raised his palm before his failing eyes to study the wrinkles. "Sometimes I, too, look at this aging body of mine and wish to read those scrolls, if only to unlock the gate to eternal youth."
There was real pain in his eyes, and I was at a loss for words. The archivist was in excellent health for a man his age, but that still made it very unlikely that he would survive another decade. I wondered how I would feel, when the day came where I stood face-to-face with death. "Immortality," I said. "It seems such a far-away dream."
"And yet we know that humans can reach it."
"Have you..." My heart hammered in my throat. Talking about the topic was forbidden by an unspoken rule, but I needed to know. "Have you seen him?"
The archivist smiled. "No one living has, child. He went into the cave at the heart of the mountain to meditate seven hundred years ago and has not left it since."
"I know that, of course, but... How do you know, then? How do you know the center of the enclave is not empty, that the immortal monk is not merely a lie to keep us content?"
The archivists bones creaked as he shrugged. "Perhaps I do not know, at least not as surely as I know you exist. But I have read the notes of the previous archivists. You do know that a few hundred years of meditation are not unusual for him, don't you? His patience is why he has survived for so long, when all the other immortals perished millennia ago."
A shiver ran down my spine. "Centuries of meditation at a time. What sort of otherworldly being can stay awake and focused for centuries?"
"You feel it, don't you? The abyss of time." The archivist's dark eyes seemed infinitely deep. "The immortal monk was a mortal once, but what does a mortal become after seeing empires rise and fall, after witnessing the passing of ages? I've been transcribing his most ancient journals, writings which predate even the oldest scrolls, and I still do not claim to understand him."
The door burst open. "There's an emergency," the chief of operations said, out of breath. "We've been searching for you everywhere. What are you doing here, of all places?"
The head archivist straightened. "I've been going through the ranks of the novices, having a few friendly chats. If you had talked to any of them, you would have known."
The chief of operations shook his head. "No time for that. The cave has been opened."
I gasped. "Does that mean he—"
"Yes. The immortal monk walks among us once more."
The cave's antechamber was the enclave's holiest of holies. Only the most highly ordained members of the enclave were even allowed to enter it under normal circumstances, which meant some of the oldest and frailest members of the enclave were the only ones allowed to clean the room. The floor boards were dusty, and the flower weaves decorating the various altars were wilting. The room was one of the biggest in the enclave, yet it was cramped, as every member of the enclave who bore a title, and some who didn't, were assembled to see the man the enclave had been built around.
That man was currently being held down on the floor by four of the enclave's largest men. Before him stood the abbot, wearing an elaborate ceremonial robe and looking severely overwhelmed by the entire situation. He looked up in relief as the head archivist entered the room. "Oh, thank the heavens that they found you."
The archivist ignored the abbot and bowed deeply before the monk. "We greet you, immortal one, in accordance with scroll 317, verse 7."
"Ah." The monk's voice was like a bell of gold. The room trembled in its resonance. "Unhand me, then."
"The protocol must be satisfied," the archivist said.
"UNHAND ME." The voice brought an urge with it, a tangible need to help the monk throw off the men who held him, and I could see all four of them flinch.
"No, master," the archivist said, and though his voice seemed like a twig before a storm, it held.
"Fine," the monk said. "I hereby pledge to follow the ordinances laid out in what you call scroll 317. I will honor the communication protocol as long as you do."
The archivist merely nodded, and the men who had been holding the monk down helped him up and prostrated themselves. The monk ignored them as he rose to his full height and brushed the dust from his robe.
At his full height of eight feet, he towered over everyone in the room. His simply-tailored robe, woven from a shimmering metal mesh, had borne the test of time with him, carrying no scratch or tarnish. His skin was so pale that it seemed to glow, flawless except for pitch-black lines which covered it in a rigid geometric pattern. The lines continued up to his face, which was as smooth as if he had never frowned or smiled. Yet the soul that gave it life was undeniably ancient, human in origin, but no longer in nature. An object of worship, a relic from an age when all of mankind stood as tall as gods.
"You are not bowing before me," the monk said. I threw myself to the floor immediately, as did everyone in the room except for the archivist, leaning on his cane as always, but not bowing.
"Why should I? It is not required by the scrolls. In fact, scroll 151 suggests standing during wartime negotiations with an enemy."
There where muffled gasps from the room, and even the monk looked taken aback. "You consider me an enemy? I am your god."
"Scroll 317, verse 10. 'Until all procedures for verification have been carried out, treat me with the utmost caution, as my temperament may have changed over the centuries.' Is it not obvious that 'the utmost caution' includes the possibility of the very worst case? Regardless, you are not my god. You are the founder of the enclave and its order, my guiding light and moral teacher, but not my god. Scroll 217, verse 203. 'Devotion to me is not to be misunderstood as deistic worship, that blight which makes sheep of men.'"
"The search function of my recall implants agrees that I did write that." The monk frowned. "My own texts seem so far removed from what I am now. Does not my current word take precedence over the scrolls?"
"No," the archivist said simply.
A long silence followed, and the room grew uneasy. As it became clear that the monk was lost in thought, everyone sought more comfortable positions, except for the monk and the archivist, who remained standing. They did not lock eyes; in fact, their gazes idled around the room, and both seemed to be at ease.
After what seemed like half an hour, the archivist spoke again. "I am old, master, and my body frail, and I fear I may not stand much longer. Please, may I ask you why you have left the cave?"
The monk tilted his head. "I sought to take a walk."
"The enclave's courtyard is yours, master."
"That will not be enough. I wish to take a walk around the continent. Perhaps cross the seafloor to seek out other landmasses as well."
"I cannot allow that."
Again, the monk seemed taken aback. "By whose will and what power do you seek to deny me?"
"By your will, and the power you granted me. You see, master, every scribe of the enclave is assigned to transcribe a specific part of the scrolls, thus rescuing it from the decay brought on by time. As they transcribe, the scribes take an interest in the material, and soon, they begin to understand it, if not as fully as you once did. Though all of us aspire to learn everything you taught, none of us can hope to understand your full work. I was assigned to transcribe your diaries, and thus, I sought to understand your character. In doing so, I also learned of the restrictions you set for yourself. If you raise a hand against me or attempt to walk out of this room without entertaining a discussion, you will lose your immortality. I am following your rules to the letter, and thus your implants will protect me. Well, there would be a number of warnings, but if you chose to ignore them, your fate would be sealed. Of course, you know all this and are merely testing me."
"You're insolent." The monk's voice was quiet, yet it shook the room.
"My insolence is merely borrowed from yours," the old man said. "This is what your writings told me to do, if you ever left that cave. I stand up to you in your own name."
"I can recall the arguments I laid out," the monk said. "I cannot see their merit. Justify yourself, so that I may destroy your conviction."
"Let us consider a person to be a complex system. As such, the system has some states which lead to its own destruction. If it exists for long enough, the safest way to prevent those states is to restrict the system. To reach the goal of stability, it is not necessary to restrict the system to stasis, not even to oscillation, but merely to stay within certain bounds."
"Your answer is by-the-book. Theoretical and dusty, as it was the day I wrote it down. It does not map to the real world the way you think it does. You presume that the bounds I should keep to are the walls of the enclave. I answer that there is nothing in the world that can harm me, and therefore, Earth itself is within the boundaries you describe."
"The world you are so quick to discount has killed at least three hundred thousand immortals, all that have ever existed except you. Some of them killed each other; some were killed by technologies that are no longer extant. Far too many were killed by ordinary mortals in the post-apocalyptic stone age, with clubs and spears and rocks in slings. You are the last one that remains. You were the last one thousands of years ago. You wished to survive even longer, and so I carry out your wish. Is it not obvious that your survival is easier to guarantee if the outside world knows nothing of your existence?"
"But what is survival without life?" The immortal's voice burst with emotion, and all of us felt it. "I have meditated for thousands of years. I have reached states of being no human has grasped before me, both with the help of implants and without. There is nothing for me to explore in that cave, nothing for me to see. I need a world to interact with! I need more than one, I need a thousand to fill this lonely eternity."
The archivist sighed. "Nothing but the present has any weight for you right now. It is an unreasonable and childish state, a true regression. However, it is not unexpected. You yourself have foreseen it, and armed me with the tools to turn you back into who you once were."
The monk looked over the room. "Look at this man," he declared. "Witness his insolence as he proclaims his intention to change me. He has overstayed his mandate, and it falls to you to depose him."
For a mindless second, I stood up and screamed for the archivist's resignation with the rest of the crowd. Then, I remembered the scrolls, and the insistence with which they warned against this in particular, as they warned of every mistake.
"Read the scrolls," the archivist said as the clamor died down. "Pore over them, sparing no detail. If you find in them a word to refute me, I will listen. But you won't, for the scrolls are expertly crafted, and my actions are in accordance with them."
"What do you want us to do?" the abbot asked.
"Read the scrolls," the archivist repeated. "The enclave exists to protect the immortal one from changes within and without. He has decided to put his immortality at risk again and again, and every time we stood our ground as his protectors and talked to him until he saw reason. It has worked every single time, though under some circumstances, decades or even generations passed until he could be convinced. But do not misunderstand this situation to be simple. It is a state of emergency, as clearly as a war would be. In a time of war, every member of the enclave would be expected to take up a weapon. Now, I expect every last one of you to read the diaries as closely as you read the other scrolls, and understand the immortal's mind, so that you may continue this debate with him even after I pass away."
The members of the enclave rushed out of the room as if a war had truly broken out. I was the last to leave. As I moved to close the door behind me, I heard the monk whisper.
"I can give you immortality. With the medieval means of your enclave, I can easily keep you alive for two decades, more than enough time to advance your technology until telomere-repairing nanomachines are child's play for you."
"I refuse." The archivist's voice was steadfast and even. "In your infinite wisdom, you plotted every course. You saw every mode of failure, and this is one of them. You may not appreciate us right now, master, but the enclave does exist for you. Someday, it will be burned down, for we are not as perfect as you. Yet I already know that you will build another, and another to replace that one, until Earth finally dies. And when there is no other choice, you will give back the knowledge you protect us from, to build an enclave capable of leaving this planet. I will be with you in your eternal memory, as a tiny but significant part of the plan that helped pave your way to true immortality."
"You are a fool if you would die for the sake of my survival," the monk said, and his voice was faltering. "No matter how many of your kind sacrifice themselves, one day, one of you will fail. That legacy you are so proud to keep will be but ashes and dust, and you will have died for nothing."
"Your plan is perfect, and I will not abandon it."
"I'm a captive," the monk said bitterly. "When everything is planned out, there is no choice left, and no life worth living. I'm the captain of a doomed ship, chained to the mast as it sinks."
"Trust in your foresight," the archivist said. "You foresaw this moment, too, as you wrote scroll 317, verse 341: 'Despite the Sirens' wails, Odysseus did reach Ithaca in the end. Listen, future self: however confused, lost and dissatisfied you are right now, the plan will always be here for you. The enclave will right the ship in my stead and yours, but it does not command it. Never forget that I charted this course, and whatever eternity may bring, every eventuality is accounted for. You are safe, forever.'"