I didn’t sleep well that night. I tried to put my restlessness down to unfamiliar surroundings: the background rumble of the planet like an earthquake ready to happen, the bitter star bleeding her crimson rays through the slats in my window, the scuttling of large insects at the end of my bed, or perhaps even the return of the sour-sweet stench of death that first greeted me when I entered the monastery, but it was none of these things.
It wasn’t even Brother Makeswift’s descriptions of the murders that had taken place each month. A glassy expression of fear filled his eyes as he told me about the mark resembling the Eye of Pandora etched into the skin of each mutilated victim. He said everything seemed to change overnight. The Order of the Codex, once known for its atmosphere of tranquility and well-being, transformed into a place of dread. Even before the murders, a hideous presence—thick and heavy like tangible hate, as though a demonic spirit had squeezed its bulk between the walls—seemed to fill the air of the monastery.
I am used to the subtle trickery the human instinct can impress upon the mind. None of those things affect me now. What bothers me more than all of that is the reappearance of Abbot Deepseed. Not because of his mysterious resurrection—that could be explained in a number of ways, all of which I plan to investigate. No, it is the man himself. Something about him is utterly wrong. Wrong like a mute scream of terror or a living abomination acting out unspeakable but invisible atrocities before my eyes. The abbot should not be here. But here he is. And what was it Brother Sunny had called him? Keitus Vieta.
That name was the first crumb of evidence my investigative instincts sniffed out, but whilst I quickly discovered what the name meant, it told me nothing. Sunny, though gifted artistically with his hands, had difficulty with speech, and Brother Veguelle was keen to explain to me that when Sunny could not find adequate words to express his thoughts, he would often revert to phrases from long extinct language forms. I could hardly blame Brother Sunny; the abbot’s aura certainly did defy expression. Finding out the meaning behind Keitus Vieta was then a simple matter of spending time in the monastery’s reference library, which was antiquated by the use of indexed books (anything to avoid technology where possible) but comprehensive nonetheless.
My research was soon rewarded after flicking through the waxy pages of an old dictionary of ancient languages. Having refined my search to the native tongue of Sunny’s distant descendents on Old Earth—Litsu’an or Lithunarian—I found Keitus or Kitus to mean “other” and Vieta to mean “place.”
Other place. So this younger, resurrected abbot has come from another place. What does that mean? The question shifted uneasily among my thoughts throughout the night and into the morning (if you could call it morning in a place haunted by perpetual gloom) until I eventually prepared myself for my first full day as a monk.
I had been told I would be given a brief introduction to the potential of the Codex at the breakfast table—nothing too taxing as an initiation but an exercise I was looking forward to with a mixture of nervous anticipation and greedy awe. For the Codex is the mathematical oracle that every civilized culture has fantasized about since mankind first learned to speak. It holds the key to complete omniscience but leads each of its pursuers along a never ending tightrope of revelations suspended over an abyss of insanity.
It was the Codex—or to be specific, the knowledge the Codex brought—that took the peace of aeons and decimated it with universal war and chaos. Even The Book of Deeds had no name for that era of history. It took millennia for humanity to recover, but with such terrible power still available, new laws had to be conceived to protect us. Only a select few specifically disciplined and isolated communities were permitted to study the Codex, the most celebrated of which is this one. To be granted the opportunity to look into the mind of the universe is an honor that cannot be passed up.
“Good morning, Brother Makeswift.” I sit opposite my new mentor who is settled at the same table as last night. A selection of exotic fruit, dried cereals, and a jug of liquid resembling milk is on the table, and I help myself to a modest breakfast, still marvelling at how the monks are able to produce crops of this standard in such a hostile environment.
“Brother Soome, good to see you.” He chews thoughtfully on a fleshy fruit that could be an apple. “Did you sleep well?”
“I was comfortable enough.”
“Fucking liar,” Brother Veguelle says in my ear and nonchalantly drops his plate of fruit next to mine.
“Veguelle!” Makeswift snaps.
The rotund monk raises his hands in mock apology, then grins. “Nobody can sleep for more than ten minutes since the murders started … Could be you with the Eye of Pandora branded on that fresh young skin of yours next. Who knows?”
“I apologize, Brother Soome. Veguelle can sometimes—”
“It’s fine.” I turn to Veguelle, study his face. He seems to be taking all this too flippantly, as if the murder of his colleagues is a huge cosmic joke. “You seem to be in good spirits. Do you rest easier at night than the others?”
He sniffs loudly. “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” I say, “it’s because you think you know who might be responsible for the murders.”
“Of course I do.”
“Really? Care to share?”
“I’ve made no secret of that,” he says, with a jocular wobble of his chin. “The answer is obvious, dear boy.” Veguelle holds Brother Makeswift with an accusing stare. “And I don’t know why it isn’t equally as obvious to certain other people in this shit hole.”
“Not everybody shares your opinion,” Makeswift counters sternly.
“Opinion? Is that what you call it?” Veguelle coughs. “I tend to refer to it as plain and simple fact.” He takes a bite from one of the fruit and munches openmouthed while turning to me. “But then I suppose that’s why you’re here. To be the eyes of Great Mother Pandora. To sort the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. To sift the opinions from the facts.”
“Are you going to tell me who you think it is or not?”
“Forceful, isn’t he?” Veguelle beams at Makeswift. “I like him.”
“Force isn’t my way, Brother,” I say, tilting my head to make my neck crack, “but if provoked …”
“Great winds of Prometheus!” He laughs. “There’s no need for that sort of talk. Why, it’s Sunny, dear boy, Sunny! He’s your murderer. It’s as plain as the troglodyte brow on his cretinous head.”
“Because he has a tendency toward violent episodes?”
“Yes, that’s one reason, but—”
“Nonsense,” says Makeswift, “these murders are premeditated. Sunny would be mortified if his outbursts ever led him to take a life.”
“Mortified.” Veguelle chuckles. “Now there’s an appropriate word.”
“Do you have any other reasons to believe it’s Sunny?” I ask.
“Well”—Veguelle leans forward, pauses for added drama—”his eyes are too close together for one thing, and—”
“I think we’ve heard enough. Brother Soome is not here just to investigate the crimes within the order; he’s also here to learn our disciplines.”
“I know; I know,” Veguelle says with a smirk, poking at the fruit on his plate. “It’s why you wanted me to join you both for breakfast … Paper, rock, scissors, is it? That the one we’re doing for our first timer? It usually is.”
“Paper, rock, scissors it is,” Brother Makeswift confirms. “It’s always the first lesson but more of a demonstration really. If you’re willing, Brother Soome, we can begin as soon as you’ve finished eating.”
I nod and continue my breakfast while Veguelle witters on to me with questions about what possessed me to take on such a mundane quest as this one and how it is that none of the other monks do anything interesting with their lives other than engross themselves in ancient equations.
My strongest instinct is to grill Veguelle more about the murders, but Makeswift is right; I’m here to find out how they study the Codex too. It may unearth the motivations of these monks, perhaps even the murderer.
At the end of breakfast, Brother Makeswift signals for someone to clear the table, then pinches his finger and thumb together and taps them against his lips while nodding, as if inwardly reciting or measuring something. “Sorry. Just making sure I’m ready. It’s not always easy to remember every last detail. The lesson is very brief and a small taste of what we do here, but it still requires significant preparation for the teacher. Are you ready?”
“Perfectly. What do I have to do?”
Veguelle stands. “Want me next to you, Brother Makeswift?”
“Yes, please.”
Veguelle’s grin, which never seems to leave his face, widens a touch as he moves around the table. “I love this. It’s going to scramble your head when you try to work it out. Then it’s going to blow it right out of your ears, especially when—”
“Thank you, Brother Veguelle. I’m sure Brother Soome will discover the value of it himself without the aid of your colorful embellishments.”
Veguelle shrugs, sits down again, and watches me with an excited lick of the lips.
“Now,” says Makeswift, “all you have to do is beat Brother Veguelle in a simple game of paper, rock, scissors. But you must beat him twenty rounds in succession. Do you think you can do that?”
Veguelle’s eyes widen in amusement. “Think you can take me, Soome?”
I take a long breath through my nose, raise my eyebrows, and grin. “I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Statistically,” says Makeswift, “it’s unlikely you’ll beat him more than three times before he beats you. Unless …” He opens his hands, waiting for the obvious response.
“Unless I already know what he’s going to choose,” I say.
“Correct. If peoples’ speculation about the Codex is true, then something like that should be no problem. So, let us assume that I am the Codex, an all-seeing oracle with full knowledge of the future, which you can freely access. You can ask me for the information you need, then say go when you wish to challenge your opponent. Understand?”
“Yes, but wouldn’t I win every time?”
Makeswift smiles. “That’s the general assumption people make about the Codex. If we have the full knowledge of the universe, wouldn’t we know the future before it happens? Wouldn’t we win all the time?”
I smile back at him. “I presume I’m going to learn something about that idea today.”
“Precisely. It seems like a pointless exercise, I know, but please give us the benefit of the doubt for now. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He drops his smile in concentration. “Shall we try?”
Veguelle spits on his palms, slaps his hands together, then balls one into a fist holding it out toward me. “Let’s go.”
“Veguelle, you know how this works,” says Makeswift. “You have to whisper to me what you’re going to pick.”
He whispers something in Makeswift’s ear.
Makeswift looks at me expectantly.
“What did he tell you?” I ask.
Makeswift leans toward me, whispers in my ear, “He said rock.”
I study Veguelle’s grinning face, then say, “Go.”
Veguelle and I bang our fists on the table three times and reveal our choices. Veguelle keeps his fist in place while I open mine to represent paper.
“That’s one to you, Soome. Again.”
Veguelle whispers in Makeswift’s ear.
“What did he choose?” I ask.
“He chose paper,” Makeswift whispers to me.
“Go,” I say and with three more thumps to the desk, Veguelle opens his fist while I make a scissors shape.
“Two to you, Soome. All seems easy enough, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, standard calculation and response technique.”
“Exactly, so we’re going to make a little addition to the rules. Now you also have to whisper to me what you’re going to choose and both of you must agree to say go before the challenge begins.”
I think about it for a moment, then whisper in Makeswift’s ear, “Scissors.”
“What did he say?” Veguelle asks.
Makeswift whispers into Veguelle’s ear.
Veguelle whispers his choice.
“He must have chosen rock,” I say. “If he knows I said scissors, he must have chosen rock.”
Makeswift smiles and shrugs. “What will you do? Are you ready?”
“The challenge doesn’t begin until I say go, right?”
“Can I change my mind from scissors?”
Makeswift raises his eyebrows. “Do you have free will?”
I narrow my eyes at him and ignore Veguelle’s smirk. “I’m choosing something different.”
“Very well. Tell me what it is.”
Still squinting, I whisper, “Paper.”
“What did he say?” asks Veguelle.
Makeswift whispers in his ear.
Veguelle whispers back.
“And what did Veguelle say?” I ask.
Makeswift smiles again, leans over, and whispers, “Scissors. And you?”
I shake my head. “But we’re not getting anywhere. Every time I make a choice or he makes a choice we change our minds.”
“So?” says Makeswift.
“Do we have a time limit?”
“The time limit is the strength of your patience.”
“Then how can either of us ever win?”
“I can sit here all day,” says Veguelle. “All I’ve got to go back to is a day of washing floors. I hate washing floors. Makeswift told me that if I win, I can pass the chore on to Brother Kayne.”
“Well I don’t have all day; I have an investigation to run.”
Veguelle slaps his hands on the table. “Then I win.”
“I think we can stop there,” says Makeswift. “Have you learned anything, Brother Soome?”
I think for a moment. Aside from an even deeper conviction that Brother Veguelle is a complete ass but probably not a murderer, the lesson appears to prove that the study of the Codex is a huge disappointment. Could a mathematical equation, however comprehensive, really be used to predict the future? Are we all still at the mercy of an infinity of possible changes for an infinite quantity of variables?
“I’m not sure what I’ve learned. That demonstration makes it appear that studying the Codex is a waste of time, and I don’t think that’s the message you wanted to convey.”
“Not exactly. For Brother Veguelle here, it wasn’t a waste of time. Do you agree?”
“For him, no, but …”
“Yes?”
“Well, it sounds like Veguelle has done this before. He knew—”
“What to expect? But that’s the point we’re making. It’s so much more than just knowing the outcome. It’s knowing what you will do with it and understanding why you seek it. Without all of these and the tenacity to see them through, you’re right; the effort is useless. But you see, Brother Veguelle here knew the outcome, and he had a purpose in knowing, and he understood that purpose. Illumination of the Codex is no different. Each of us has a unique way of understanding it. Each of us finds a different path based on our individual desires and expectations.”
“So is that a convoluted way of telling me that we only see what we want to see from the Codex?”
At that Veguelle clapped loudly. “Oh, isn’t he just wonderful? I do like him … Yes, that’s exactly what he’s been saying.”
“No, not exactly,” says Makeswift. “It’s true to a certain extent. The future is predetermined and cannot be changed; every future event is dictated and set out in the code for all to see if we choose to look.”
“But doesn’t our knowledge of the future mean we change it?” I ask.
“It’s the exact concept that has driven so many students of the Codex insane and so many governments to war. The short answer to that question is: no, it doesn’t.”
“But if I know what I am about to do, can’t I change it?”
“Of course you can.”
“So surely that would mean the future is not determined.”
“No, that’s the reason I chose the rock, paper, scissors game—to demonstrate that simple truth. Listen carefully: however far you choose to look, there is always another decision beyond your sight. It’s a principle law of Codex illumination. The very fact that you chose to find out your future was already predetermined. If you deliberately set out to change your future, then your only limitation is how far you decide to look.”
“You could spend your entire life just trying to find out what decisions you’re going to make after the next one and never actually end up doing anything.”
“Almost, yes. You will end up doing the things you found out about, but you will never ever discover the motivations for the determining decision. But it gets worse. Adding an extra person who knows what you’re doing will complicate things further. And imagine if it isn’t just one person but seven hundred billion people?”
I shake my head and laugh. “It’s enough to make your head hurt.”
“Told you,” Veguelle says. “It’ll drive you crazy if you look too hard too soon. Perhaps we should introduce you to Brother Ignatius, then the truth will really sink in.”
“Brother Ignatius?” I ask Makeswift.
“Poor fellow, we haven’t been able to help him.”
“What happened?”
“His mind fucked up completely,” says Veguelle. “He was probably the most studious among us, brilliant in fact, almost as genius as yours truly. Unfortunately, one day he went to his chamber, calculated a new set of algorithms to identify a particular direction he knew his life would take, and … well, he never recovered—slipped into a waking, muttering coma.” He sucks his top lip and stares wide-eyed into space. “He’s in the casualty chambers receiving forced dietary intake these days. We think he’ll come out of it one day, but nobody really knows, and nobody wants to find out in case the same thing happens to them. It’s rather like a brain virus.”
“I understand what you’re both saying”—I nod to Makeswift—”but doesn’t it reinforce the point I made earlier? That it makes the whole business of understanding the Codex seem pointless?”
“Not at all,” Makeswift says, digging his hand within a fold of his robes as if looking for something. Frustration fills his expression for a few moments, and then he stops, his face growing pale.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
He closes his eyes, mumbles under his breath as if recalculating something, then shakes his head. “No, nothing at all.” After a sharp intake of breath, he produces a small metal box from his robes. “There’s more you need to understand, Brother Soome, and today’s lesson isn’t over yet. Take this and open it.”
I lift the lid, eyeing Makeswift briefly before looking at the contents. Inside are three familiar dark cubes of polished wood with bold white dots painted on each of their sides. “Dice.”
Makeswift nods. “I wanted to use coins, but they … uh … seem to have been … they seem to have gone missing so we will use dice instead. Throw them for me, please. I think you’ll find their sum amounts to ten.”
I oblige him and watch in amusement as they settle on a one, a four, and a five.
“Again,” he says. “This time it will be seventeen, but one of the sixes will be caught before it rolls off the table.”
I roll the dice, and just as he predicted, a six and a five show up before me. The remaining die tumbles across the wood, heading toward Veguelle who, with his usual grin, slams his palm on top of it before it rolls into his ample lap. He lifts his hand to reveal a six.
I nod. “So you can predict the future.”
“Of course we can,” blurts Veguelle. “What do you think we’re all doing here if we couldn’t?”
“But the paper, rock, scissors test …”
“It shows you what happens when there’s a clash of free will, that’s all,” Veguelle mutters. “It’s not just that you can’t see beyond your own decisions. The test is a hint at how complex the calculations are. There are thousands more levels of complexity to unravel that most of us can only guess at. If the Codex were that simple to understand, don’t you think we’d know for sure who’s been murdering everyone here? And if it were that simple, why did the entirety of the Great AI disappear for hundreds of years trying to work the whole fucking thing out, hmm?”
I raise my hands and warn him with a stare. “Relax. I’m just trying to—”
“Brother Makeswift!” Brother Kayne, the doomsayer, rushes into the verbal melee before I’m able to finish. “Come quickly. There’s been another murder.”