Monarch II: Forgotten Sanctum: A

Progression Fantasy Epic (RE:

Monarch Book 2) J. Mccoy
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 CONTENTS

ALSO IN SERIES

Enclave - Prologue (Thoth)

1. Sanctum I
2. Sanctum II
3. Sanctum III
4. Sanctum IV
5. Sanctum V
6. Sanctum VI
7. Sanctum VII
8. Sanctum VIII
9. Sanctum IX
10. Sanctum X
11. Sanctum XI
12. Sanctum XII
13. Sanctum XIII
14. Sanctum XIV
15. Sanctum XV
16. Sanctum XVI
17. Sanctum XVII
18. Sanctum XVIII
19. Sanctum XIX
20. Sanctum XX
21. Sanctum XXI
22. Sanctum XXII
23. Sanctum XXIII
24. Sanctum XXIV
25. Sanctum XXV
26. Sanctum XXVI
27. Sanctum XXVII
28. Sanctum XXVIII
29. Sanctum XXIX
30. Sanctum XXX
31. Sanctum XXXI
32. Sanctum XXXII
33. Sanctum XXXIII
34. Sanctum XXXIV
35. Sanctum XXXV
36. Sanctum XXXVI
37. Sanctum XXXVII
38. Sanctum XXXVIII
39. Sanctum XXXIX
40. Sanctum XL
41. Sanctum XLI
42. Sanctum XLII
43. Sanctum XLIII
44. Sanctum XLIV
45. Sanctum XLV
46. Sanctum XLVI
47. Sanctum XLVII
48. Sanctum XLVII
49. Sanctum XLVIII
50. Sanctum XLIX
51. Sanctum XLX
Interlude: Bellarex I
Interlude: Bellarex II
Interlude?
Thank you for reading Forgotten Sanctum
 FORGOTTEN SANCTUM
©2022 J McCoy (AKA Eligos)

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 ALSO IN SERIES

PRINCE OUT OF TIME

FORGOTTEN SANCTUM
 ENCLAVE - PROLOGUE (THOTH)

“T rue enough,” Cairn said.

Thoth stared into the pool of red, through the stars that
were not stars, and slammed her hand through it, shattering
the image. The madness coursed through her, and magic rippled
through her skin, clawing at her pores, begging for release.
It was not that Cairn had won that rankled. She had left the
enclave relatively unchallenged as a test case. It was how he had
won seemingly without effort that was cause for alarm.
Break him. Break everything.
The madness was insistent now. She had bled too much. In mere
moments it would be beyond the point of no return, and the madness
would demand any blood that was not hers. Enemy, ally, it mattered
little to the red harbinger that plagued her. Eventually, she would let it
feast and have its fill. It had its uses, but in this instance it was more
harm than good.
Thoth pulled herself to her feet, unable to fully lift her head, her
spine twitching, and dragged herself through the dungeon. With
every step, the madness grew, the twitching becoming more
pronounced. She realized with grim irritation that she had overtaxed
herself. Prescience was never cheap—both in the blood it cost and
the mental strain.
She reached her destination: an inconspicuous section of wall. To
anyone else, it would appear like any other in the dungeon. Through
mage sight, there was a small black dot, floating and shrouded.
Thoth wiggled her fingers through it and tore it open. It formed a
flickering portal no larger than a personal mirror. One of her many
caches throughout the lair. Thoth removed the contents one by one,
a series of highly concentrated poultices. She loathed them. Hated
her reliance on them. But they were necessary.
Isopsilchyzox to stave off the whispers and the need.
Octaimioncin to clear her mind from the languid cloudiness and
apathy that the isopsilchyzox would plunge her into.
Duosuvid to prevent inevitable tolerance for and dependence on
both.
This was her regimen when she needed to think. To plan.
The series of events up to the aborted attack on the enclave was
semi-explainable. First, there were a number of the Metamorphosis
idiots who had to be dealt with, and the beginning of the loop was
always taxing. She was already weakened to an unacceptable
degree at the start, and projecting herself backwards beyond that
point weakened her even further, limiting her capabilities for months
and leaving her deathly ill, recovering for weeks.
Annoying.
Matters were not helped by the fact that Barion had proved over
and over again he was an imbecile—well, no, that was perhaps the
wrong word. He was a savant. An ideologically twisted, wholly
focused savant, with a lens of concentration so narrow it left him
open to many vectors of attack. She’d played the scenario out before
with no issue, multiple times: sidetracking the prince and luring him
into the Everwood, allowing Barion to play his little games. It was a
light and otherwise meaningless indulgence. A small one that served
multiple purposes, both tormenting Cairn and often leading to an
initial awakening, which would be useful later.
She smiled darkly. Barion would delight in that victory and take it
as a confirmation and justification of his methods. In the process, he
would completely ignore the much more obvious reality that it was
not the method but the subject that had mattered. Once Cairn
awakened and Thoth had regained her strength, she would sweep in
and steal the moment, savoring Barion’s hopelessness as he
realized the world would never know what he had “achieved,” his
memory retained by none but a select few as a monstrous failure.
 But Cairn had awakened in the Everwood before ever meeting
Barion. That had never happened before.
Still, it wasn’t impossible. Cairn had potential. If he was attacked,
if the stress was high enough, an early awakening could be
explained away as another avenue through which the variability of
time had reared its ugly head. Thoth had learned a long time ago
that time was an unreliable mistress. The smallest thing could lead to
a drastically different future. A child ran through the street, tripping
over a pebble that had been knocked into the road. The pebble
served as a final bump for an errant wagon wheel, which shattered,
overturning overripe produce onto a lord heading to a party, who
would be forced to return home and be more than fashionably late
for the evening, completely changing the routines and futures of
everyone he would have interacted with that eve, and everyone
whom they in turn would interact with differently, all because of such
a small, insignificant deviation.
Then, when Barion had lowered his guard, Cairn and Maya had
killed him together, taking his greater demon for themselves.
That was harder to explain, but still, not impossible; that there
was a strange, less than a percent chance that a series of events led
the slime to awakening early, befriending an infernal—one Thoth
knew from personal experience to be highly useful, albeit in need of
correction—and defeating a revenant and demon, as unlikely as it
seemed.
At the time, the divergence had been amusing. A much-welcome
change of pace in the face of endless, agonizing repetition.
Then Kholis. Her lip curled. That little town should have been the
end of him. She knew she needed to kill him after the Everwood, or
break him completely. It would ruin her plans, and possibly the entire
loop, but that was preferable to the alternative: the little prince
building momentum. In his unaffected, unaltered state, the prince
was not unlike a massive boulder at the peak of an endless hill.
Harmless. Worthless. Until it started to roll.
Thoth knew too well how much of a problem that momentum
could be, even if it posed no danger to her now. After all, she had
once willingly stepped in the path of that boulder so many centuries
ago.
And that had made her what she was today.
She had decided it would be better to kill him in Kholis, just to be
safe. But her curiosity had been piqued. She’d used the augury once
more to spy on him. It was a process that was imperfect by design. It
came at a great personal cost, beyond the blood she spilled, and the
image and sound were almost always distorted. Traditional spies
were a better alternative, but building a network was tedious and
took time.
So she had looked into the blood and seen something that
scattered her plans to the ether.
Cairn had confessed to the infernal that he had visions. That
should not have been possible. That changed things.
Kill all distractions until only your path remains.
Her master’s voice whispered to her from beyond the grave. She
shook her head. Irritated. Annoyed. The regimen was failing.
Footsteps jarred her, flubbing her concentration.
“I will flay you for your impertinence,” she hissed. Her head
whipped to the side, looking for the source of the distraction that had
cost her the spell.
The footsteps paused. A voice called out, uncertain. “Is that
theater? Or should I come back later. I can never tell.”
Ghast pulled down his furred cowl and sat across from her. His
severe features took her in, eyes flicking to the pool of blood and
then back to her. She eased back, sitting on her knees. Usually such
a pose of weakness would be unacceptable, but Ghast was different.
The shadows bothered her less when he was around. In many ways,
it was the opposite effect that Cairn had.
“Unearned confidence falls easily before the knife,” Thoth said.
“You know augury is unreliable, right? That it can work against
you in multiple ways?” Ghast questioned.
Irrelevant. It was a temporary measure.
“News, from Panthania?” Thoth asked.
“Yes. The mission went well. We have people infiltrating the
various courts of note. And our contacts scooped up that little cabal
of mages you wanted. A lot of promise unless they’re exaggerating.”
“They are not.” Thoth raised her eyebrow. “Unless you doubt my
judgment.”
“No, for someone who came out of nowhere, you’ve pulled
together a hell of a plan—for the most part.”
She noted with displeasure the emphasis he had put on the last
half of that sentence. “Subtlety is not your strong suit.”
He approached the topic obliquely, the way a hunter circles a
wounded animal. “I just… find myself reminded of a story. There was
a man I knew once. A magician, fire focus. He had a rare disorder.
Something that fucked with his magic—only this… asshole… it only
made him stronger. He had wealth, prestige, everything a man could
want at his disposal.”
Thoth stared at Ghast, unblinking, willing him to speed the
pointless anecdote along.
“Anyway. This guy. This moron—I can’t for the life of me
remember what his name was—he has everything going for him. But
he has a vice. Not women or men or booze.” Ghast shook his head.
“Clocks. And not timepieces, either. Big, mechanical clocks. The
bastard had an entire room for them. Every time he bought a new
one, he would take it home and fiddle with it for hours until it was
perfectly in sync with the others. Hundreds of them. Ticking in perfect
rhythm.”
Bloody hands reached out from the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
Their presence loomed over Thoth, whispered to her. She blinked
several times, and the apparitions cleared.
“I take it you were not seeking him out as a fellow enthusiast?”
Thoth said. Her words were obligatory. The story did not interest her.
In truth, she’d heard it before. But Ghast was the sort who grew
resentful if he was not looped in. Killing him always felt wasteful.
“No.” Ghast chuckled. “It was a job, one I was not getting paid
nearly enough for. Anyway. I couldn’t figure out how to approach it.
The man’s control was absurd, he was the only mage in the area,
and half the town was infested with fire traps. Numerous
contingencies and escape routes, far too many to count, let alone
counter. But, like him, I kept coming back to the clocks. It was the
only room in the house he left unwarded.”
“I’m sensing the moral of this story is fast approaching.”
“Nah,” Ghast said, in a tone that belied the opposite. “Anyway, I
modified the door and created a vacuum within the room itself. The
wards in the rest of the house were useless once he entered the
room. His escape routes, useless. Sucked the air straight out of his
lungs. He died, purple, watching his time tick-tick-tick away. All that
power. For nothing.”
Thoth reminded herself once more that Ghast was useful.
“Another sordid tale of the Mage-Killer,” she mocked. “But those are
dangerous parallels you’re drawing. Especially when you keep
referring to the man as an idiot.”
Ghast seemed to sense the danger and stopped, letting the story
fade before speaking again. “I don’t understand why you didn’t take
the enclave.”
“There are other factors.”
“Because of the words of an addled child?” he asked.
“If the gods have reemerged…” Thoth’s vision swam. She
remembered those days vividly, before she’d fully come into her
power. Being struck by lightning repeatedly. Torn to pieces by bears.
Swallowed by the earth. Fate itself bending to fight her at every turn.
“The gods have turned from us. From everyone. You said it
yourself. They are gone.”
She gritted her teeth. Of course, he couldn’t understand the
importance of it. It had been hundreds of years since the gods had
intervened. Perhaps more. There was no good way to keep count. If
there was even the slightest chance of their meddling, she needed to
know. Things had diverged far too much, far too quickly, and he was
too limited to see the full picture. The theory needed further testing.
How much did Cairn remember? How many layers deep did the
deceit go? Did he know?
Thoth thought of the way he had looked at her after the fight
outside Kholis. The rebellion. The hate.
No. That could not be true. Would not be true for another
thousand years, perhaps beyond that. Would never be true, the
wretch that he was. But it could be an opportunity to flush out
anyone—god or otherwise—who was manipulating events behind
the scenes. Perhaps there was a way to get answers and assuage
Ghast, all at the same time.
Thoth smiled at him. For a moment, it looked as if Ghast might
squirm away in discomfort. “You speak unwisely. But not untruly.
Perhaps it is time to take a heavier hand.”
“Then you’ll let me end this… fixation?” Ghast let the question
hang.
“It would be wise to kill him while he’s isolated and vulnerable.”
She saw his hesitation, his fear, and smiled widely.
“In the Sanctum? Unless you plan to spill your secret, might I
remind you that I do not share your immunity.”
“You dare doubt me?” Her voice filled the chamber, and the
water trembled.
“No, Master,” he said slowly, defeated.
Thoth went silent for a moment. “That issue will resolve itself in
time. There’s something else you should see. An interloper has
revealed themselves.”
Thoth channeled magic, warm light emitting from her palms and
forming an image. It took on a cast of yellows, oranges, and dull
whites as the sun within the image set behind a distant hill. The
image took focus in the scene she’d watched multiple times, and the
prince staggered out into a field, falling to his knees. On first look, he
almost appeared to be alone. But there was another person there, a
form so thin as to almost be translucent.
The hatred took root in her heart, whole and deep.
Ghast leaned forward, squinting. “A spirit?”
“Of a sort.”
He snorted. “First demons, now spirits. Your plaything is certainly
making the rounds.”
Thoth bit back an angry retort. The question of exactly how Cairn
had managed to keep the demons from attacking was still a huge
blank, and she knew from experience how vital even the smallest
piece of knowledge could be.
 Ghast pulled a sheaf of papers from his coat and began to sketch
the likeness as she held the image firm. “I’ll look into it. Run it by
some of the scholars.”
“Don’t bother,” Thoth said. “I already know who she is.”
“She?” Ghast’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion.
“Her name is Hilde.”
1
 SANCTUM I

I dashed through the overgrown ruins, stale air rushing past my

ears. A black-clawed hand swiped at my head, and I ducked. If
I’d been any slower, it would have clotheslined me. Red eyes
leered from behind a pillar, and I launched an air projectile as a
parting shot. Six months ago, when the month of hell ended and I
finally left the enclave loop behind, it would have taken me almost a
full minute to cast something that significant. The globe of air
slammed into the pillar, crumbling it to pieces, and I smiled in dark
satisfaction when I heard the demon yelp.
Good. But not good enough. They’d catch up with me at this
point. I channeled magic into the inscriptions on my legs, and the
haste coding propelled me faster until the scenery was almost an
indistinguishable blur.
Duck. The amulet at my neck burned. I moved on instinct,
dodging under a hissing tight flow of water pressurized enough to
flay skin, sliding on my knees beneath the stream.
“An earlier warning would have been nice,” I hissed under my
breath. The emerald at my neck vibrated in a pattern that was hard
to interpret as anything other than laughter.
A ghost caught my eye: a thin, willowy specter that was almost
translucent. It had been pacing me perfectly but made a mistake,
barely broaching beyond the blind spot to my left. The specter dove
at me, swinging her curved blade in a vicious horizontal strike. I
couldn’t get the aegis up in time, but the transcription on my arm—
designed to activate when I attempted to summon an aegis—glowed
bright yellow, burning the skin beneath, the kinetic force of the strike
dispersed as heat. I struck out with my elbow hard and heard a
resounding “oof” as the air was driven from my attacker’s lungs.
I grinned. There was a clearing up ahead where a golden artifact
sat on an altar, glowing brightly. So close now. I picked up the pace,
hauling myself up onto what used to be a thin support rail for a large
building before hurling myself down, preparing to cross the final
stream—
Which was as slippery as it was solid the moment I stepped onto
it. I pinwheeled, trying to keep my balance as my rugged boots lost
traction, and I flailed across the ice, falling hard on my hands and
pushing myself up again. My ghostly specter from before was back,
this time not bothering to sneak up on me. She stabbed at me, and I
met her blow with the sword breaker, an audible clink as her blade
slid between the grooves and was stuck there.
I reached for my bag, and Bellarex grabbed my free arm to stop
me. I head-butted her, but she was ready for it, lowering her chin so
my forehead glanced painfully off her skull.
Fine. Time to get serious.
I manipulated the air. I’d specifically designed several pouches on
my belt with magnetic lids. With a strong enough breeze emanating
from inside the bag, the lids would pop open, bringing forth their
contents.
The powder sped towards her in a granular arc. Her eyes
widened, and she disengaged, abandoning her blade, memory no
doubt still fresh of the last time I’d hit her with a combination of
stinging nettles.
But that wasn’t what I was doing now. I called the flame, setting
the powder on fire and flinging it at her in a wide arc. She
backpedaled on the ice. I noted, wryly, that she was wearing spiked
boots. They had planned this.
My mind strained as I encircled her with the powder. Then stoked
the flame with pure mana. She fell through the ice into the water. I
took an extra moment to extinguish the flame so she wouldn’t be
stuck there.
A whip, once leather, now metal and light, lashed around my
neck like a garrote. The ice beneath my feet dissolved and refroze,
sticking me to the surface. Jorra tightened his whip and walked
towards me. He was also wearing the spiked boots. I was,
apparently, the only one to miss the memo.
The smart play would be to yield. But I didn’t want to.
“Give it up, Cairn,” Jorra said.
Some powder was still burning. If I could manage to call it over
without looking, I could free myself. I’d burn the hell out of my boots,
but in a real combat scenario that wouldn’t matter. It—
Bonk.
A blunted throwing knife infused with void bounced off my head.
The void clung to me, spoiling any immediate plans of casting.
Not to mention it hurt. A lot.
I nursed my wound with one hand and held the other towards
Jorra in surrender. He released the whip. I breathed in deeply as he
walked towards Bell, who was still half immersed, clinging to the
edge of the frozen circle, looking soaked and miserable.
“Was that really necessary?” I scowled at her, rubbing the sore
spot where the dagger had hit.
“Was this really necessary?” Bell shot back. Her teeth chattered.
“I was going to surrender.”
“No you weren’t.” They spoke simultaneously.
Some time later, the gold painted “artifact” had been obliterated
into kindling for the fire. I was trying to concentrate, speed up the
process of mana regeneration, but the chatter kept me distracted.
“I don’t understand how you got that much better in such a short
time,” Jorra said. He stared into the fire, somewhat short-spoken. His
arms were bare, showing lean definition where there was little half a
year ago. But he was still less muscular than Bell. Her biceps could
make a dwarf swoon.
“I’ve had more free time than you,” I said.
“Jorra’s just being sore that he can’t win one-on-one anymore.”
Bell pushed at his shoulder. Jorra shifted away from her and rolled
his eyes. His gaze shifted down to my arms now rewrapped in
bandages.
“It’s not just the ink. That’s part of it though, maybe,” Jorra said.
 “Maybe,” I said. I didn’t blame him for being confused. In truth, I
wasn’t sure exactly how many iterations I’d spent in the enclave
loop. More than ten. Almost all of them spent either constantly
practicing magic or researching solutions. It hadn’t been apparent to
me at the time, as the enemy was borderline omnipotent in
comparison, but I had been growing stronger, and not insignificantly
so.
Bell had drawn into herself and was looking out towards the lake.
I knew without asking that she was thinking about her father. She’d
been told the minimal amount, and my involvement had been
excluded. A spike of guilt hit me.
“Hey, Bell.”
Her head snapped up. “Hm, yes?”
“The void state could use some work.” It was a dick thing to say,
and to anyone else I would have found a better way to phrase it. But
Bellarex was different. She ignored compliments. Instead, what she
seemed to value more than anything else was criticism.
“Tell me,” she said, pulling out a piece of paper and looking
around for something to write on and, finding nothing, slapped the
piece of paper onto Jorra’s back, ignoring his protests.
I continued, “It’s almost perfect. You would have had me on the
approach, but you have to watch your angles. Crept up a little too
fast, and I saw you out of the corner of my eye. Otherwise, it would
have caught me out completely.”
She finished scrawling her notes, tip of her tongue sticking out of
the side of her mouth, and then grinned. “Thanks!”
“God, you’re weird,” Jorra said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bell said.
We made our way back into the enclave. Bell departed for her
duties at the void temple. It was late in the afternoon, and there
wasn’t much left for me to do other than head back to Ralakos’s
estate.
“Agarin’s been asking after you,” Jorra said. The strangely
tentative observation seemed to come out of nowhere.
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Is he doing alright?”
 “Yeah, he’s talking more. Though half of it’s still babbling baby-
speak.” Jorra stretched, still maintaining that strange, too-casual
facade. “You’re invited to dinner tonight. I know you’ll say no, but just
wanted to put it out there.”
“Who extended the invitation?” I asked.
“Nobody. General, family invitation.”
“And the person who initiated it was…”
Jorra sighed heavily. “Kilvius.”
That tracked. I didn’t blame Nethtari for keeping her distance.
What we had gone through in the Twilight Chambers, what she’d
seen, it was the sort of thing that stayed with a person. Nethtari was
no exception. I’d stopped my vurseng consumption cold after the
loop, and I still had trouble sleeping.
I tried to summon a smile and only partially succeeded. “Perhaps
another night. Tell Kilvius thank you, but I really do need to focus on
my studies. The Sanctum is right around the corner.”
“Yeah. I need to start getting ready too.” Jorra looked off in the
direction of the giant crevasse and chewed his lip in worry. “But he’s
just going to keep asking.” He sounded resigned. We’d had
variations of this conversation for a while now, and it always seemed
to pan out the same way.
“We’ll get together at some point, I’m sure.”
“You think Bell is ready?”
The question surprised me. “Bell? She’s fine. She could still kick
my ass any day of the week.”
He gave me a look.
“I didn’t say she would win,” I said, “just that she’d kick my ass.”
“She just gets that look sometimes. Like she’s exhausted and
confused. Like more than tired: weary. And we haven’t even gotten
to the hard part yet.”
It was true, but I felt the need to defend my future teammate. I
recognized what she was going through. Bell wasn’t tired, she was
unanchored. Judging from what little I’d seen of them, Erdos had
pushed her hard. A constant hand on her back, hurtling her forwards,
driving her, never relenting. And now that hand was gone.
“Just be patient with her. She’s been through a lot,” I said.
 “Yeah. I’m not trying to be an asshole. I just feel like we’re not
ready,” Jorra said.
“From everything I’ve heard, it’s not the sort of thing you can fully
prepare for.” I thought back to Morthus’s description of the Sanctum,
how he’d compared it to birds pushing their young out of the nest.
“You either fly or you fall.”
He tore his gaze away from the crevasse and changed the
subject. “Dinner. Soon. Preferably before we leave.”
He reached a hand out towards me at waist level, and I clasped
his arm. Then he set off at a brisk jog towards his home, ducking out
of the way of an errant dire mole passing on the street. I watched
him go, trying to quash the queasiness in my gut. There was no
helping it. This barrier between me and the family I’d grown so close
to. It was just the way things were now.

A servant greeted me at the door, taking my belongings and peeling

off my coat. He confirmed that there hadn’t been any letters. That
was disappointing, but to be expected.
I’d been writing to my mother and sisters for a few months now. It
was a big step. When I first came to the enclave, some part of me
had been frightened of communicating with them. In my mind, the
possibility that they were alive seemed a tentative one, and acting as
if they were without seeing them first felt like hubris. But fear meant
something entirely different now than it did then, so I had picked up a
pen and begun to write.
There were never any responses, of course—I was sure my
father was taking a hard-line stance when it came to any potential
leaks of information to an enemy faction, but I hoped they at least
read them.
I thanked the butler absentmindedly and headed to my room.
The last six months had flown by.
My time in Ralakos’s estate was lonely, but pleasant enough.
Ralakos was constantly busy with council matters and dealing with
the fallout from Ephira’s disappearance, which meant I saw him less
than I had before I’d lived in his home.
I filled my time the only way I knew how. Obsessive studying and
practicing. Habits once foreign and laughable to me had become my
universal constants. Even though I’d long since given up the
sleepless nights, the days started early and ended late, often leaving
me with the feeling of waking the moment my head hit the pillow.
My demonic was getting better. I was hardly fluent, but I could
understand most simple sentences, though innuendo and double
entendre were often lost on me, much to Vogrin’s irritation. My magic
was stronger, but my spell work was still behind where it should have
been for an infernal my age. The constant business was therapeutic
in a way. Staying focused helped fill the void and occupy all
conscious thought, preventing my mind from wandering to places it
was best to stay clear of.
For the most part, the intentional business worked. The flashes of
pain and torture no longer plagued me during the day. There was,
however, nothing I could do about the dreams that came to me at
night.
I removed my shirt and bandages and looked over myself in the
mirror. The growth spurt that had marked my later teen years had
inexplicably arrived early. I was lanky for the first time in my life.
But that was hardly the most significant change. Jagged demonic
scrawl that stretched up my arms and across my chest in angry-
looking black text covered much of my body now. The inscription
process was painful and hideously slow. The more inscriptions you
had, the more likely it was to cause some sort of soul imbalance,
leading to all sorts of particularly nasty outcomes. Akios, my inscriber
—the same one who had originally worked on the suicide inscription
—made me come up with a list of everything I wanted before he
even began to work. After that, I’d been under the knife every two
weeks, like clockwork.
I traced the text near the center of my chest, probing my most
recent addition for pain or discomfort, any sign of infection. I’d gone
back and forth on whether I wanted the kill switch: the way it had
become almost automatic under duress during the worst of the
previous loop weighed heavy on my mind.
Rather than forgo it entirely, I opted for a compromise, a modified
version of the original design I had broached. It wasn’t all that
different, but slightly harder to activate, not unlike a crossbow trigger
with a heavier pull.
Hopefully, that would be enough.
I discussed the afternoon’s training session with Vogrin. He kept
it constructive, but it was clear he wasn’t happy with me, with us.
He’d made his feelings known on the topic on more than a few
occasions: the Sanctum was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I
needed to be using my increased power and position to insert myself
into a group that was stronger and more experienced.
Despite understanding where he was coming from, I couldn’t
have disagreed with him more. Trust was paramount. Now more
than ever. Jorra might have been somewhat immature and
occasionally surly, but he had my back. And despite only knowing
her a short time, I felt I understood Bell. Even entertaining the idea of
ditching them for another group felt wrong.
There was a sharp rap at my door. The butler’s voice called out,
“Young Master, you have a guest.”
“Just a minute.” I threw on a shirt. Unexpected, and the timing
was strange. I didn’t have many guests these days.
I opened the door. There was a blur of movement, and someone
tackled me in a hug. I tensed in a moment of fight or flight before a
familiar scent caught my nose, and the panic faded entirely.
“Don’t you have a family dinner to get to?” I asked gently.
“You kept them safe,” Maya said. Her voice was muffled, face
buried in my chest. “They told me. You kept them safe.”
My breath hitched, and my vision swam in a well of emotion that I
only just managed to push back down. I hugged her back.
“I did.”
2
 SANCTUM II

“I did.” After that, I was at a loss for words.

We parted, and Maya stepped back. She had changed
much in the year away. Her dark hair had grown out to
shoulder length and was allowed to hang freely, accented by a
simple loop that tied the edges back to the middle in a knot. She was
taller. There was a small sliver-sized scar on her cheek. But the most
notable change was the way she carried herself. The air of
nervousness that had colored her mannerisms and speech patterns
was gone, replaced with the easygoing confidence of a person who
had proven themselves.
“You look good,” I said, noting in amusement as her tail twitched
up towards her wrist, then away, diverting course at the last moment.
She snorted. “I am not used to having to look up at you.”
I tilted my head up and looked down my nose. “Yes, everything
looks so small from up here.”
“Uh-huh. Keep rubbing it in and I’ll shorten your femurs.” Maya
laughed; then her face grew solemn as she looked over the
inscriptions. “I see you did not heed my advice.”
Guiltily, I ducked my head. “What advice was that?”
“To stay away from inscription magic.”
“It’s…” I paused. I’d done my research. There was some risk to
what I was doing, yes. It was the sort of thing that could potentially
come back to bite a magician if overtaxed. But the primary concern
from inscription magic was magicians who used it to repeatedly cast
high-level, difficult spells the soul was not prepared for. That was not
my intent. When selecting my inscriptions, my only concerns had
been practicality and utility. I needed to be able to improvise on the
fly, to worm my way out of difficult situations on instinct.
“It was good advice.” I tried again. “But things have changed
slightly since you left.”
“Yes.” Maya gave me a look that told me this wasn’t the end to
the discussion. “Tell me everything.”
I kept it as close to the truth as I was able. The second
awakening. That I’d had a vision warning me of Ephira and the
asmodials. How, with Nethtari’s help, I had negotiated with them and
used Ephira’s duplicity to trap her. That I’d allowed Ephira to be
killed.
Maya absorbed that in her typical, thoughtful fashion. There was
no feeling of judgment or disappointment from her. It was like she
was puzzling over a problem.
“You are leaving things out,” she said.
“A bit,” I admitted.
“Are these things that you cannot speak of, or will not speak of?”
Maya cocked her head.
“Mostly the former,” I said.
It stung not being able to tell her the whole story, but to be fair, I
wasn’t sure I would have wanted to. Especially considering the
events of the attack itself and the coinciding story of my second
awakening. That was too deep, too raw, even now.
The only thing I left out was the cost. The deal I had struck with
Ozra. As far as I was concerned, that didn’t affect her. Or anyone
really. I was reminded of what the archfiend had said about the
existential elements of knowing your soul was damned. I had to
imagine that extended to the people around me to some extent.
Laying that weight at the feet of people who cared for you just
seemed…
Cruel.
“How long are you here for?” I asked, changing the topic.
“A day. I had planned to come home earlier, but we were pushing
outward into the less explored regions.”
Maya told me tales of the Sanctum. Exploration, battles. Her
team was talented and well put together, and they had plans to push
further out after taking some time to restock and train. The Sanctum
was more dangerous than in recent years, various creatures and
fauna more overtly hostile than they previously had been.
“Oh, and of course, the prize.” Maya reached in her bag, hand
first, then down to her shoulder, face a mask of focus as she blindly
fumbled for what she was looking for. She fished a silver object out
and shoved it into my hand.
It was a silver bangle with crimson inlays in the form of demonic
text. I ran my fingers over it, trying to work out the meaning.
“Movement? No… shift? Shifting… shifting of what?” I looked up.
“Your demonic is solid, considering how long it has been.” She
pointed at a word I’d missed. “It means shifting of earth,” Maya said,
her voice excited.
“Um. It’s an earth magic augment?” I tried.
“It can detect shifting in the plates beneath the Sanctum.”
I finally got it. “Meaning you get a heads-up if a passage is about
to close or open.”
“And the range is incredible.” Maya was almost jumping up and
down. “It gives us a huge head start in general. The strongest
artifacts come out of those passages, Cairn. I could find something
to help us. Maybe even discover an area of the Sanctum that hasn’t
been seen for thousands of years.”
My outlook darkened as I thought back to the diamond scepter.
Yes, I knew all too well exactly how powerful the artifacts from the
Sanctum could be.
“Just be careful,” I said. I wanted to be able to go with her, to
keep her safe, but that was unrealistic. Maya could take care of
herself, she had her own group, and I had mine.
“Same to you,” Maya said. “You’ll need to deal with Jorra wanting
to charge in all the time.”
“And Bell,” I snorted. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure her
solution to most problems is to whack them with a sword.”
“Bell?” Maya asked.
“Bellarex. Erdos’s kin. She’s a void specialist.”
“Oh.” Something flitted across Maya’s face, gone before I could
identify it. “I know her, I think. Saw her fight in a few festivals. You got
lucky. She is a good pick.” Maya clasped her hands behind her back.
“I have to get back soon. Maybe, if my team does not plan to depart
immediately, I can meet up with you all when you get there? It never
hurts to have a life magician standing by on your first couple of
forays.”
I smiled. “I’d like that.”

Seeing Maya again lifted my spirits. It was a tangible reminder, in

many ways, of what I was fighting for. There was a part of me that
was taken aback at first; she had begun to physically resemble the
person who had fought alongside Thoth, who had killed my sister.
But she completely lacked the hatred and contempt that dripped
from that twisted, alternate version of her.
I began to pack for the Sanctum. The events of the enclave loop
had taken me by surprise, and I’d grimly made a personal
commitment to never be caught so flat-footed again. I shoved
dozens of vials and tinctures and poultices into the dimensional bag
Ralakos had given me as a gift. The bag wasn’t limitless—not even
close, but it prevented me from having to be too choosy about what I
took.
After confirming there was space, I also packed everything I
would need to create more. The tools and equipment weren’t a
substitute for a real lab, but they would do in a pinch. There were
also plants and ingredients that were only obtainable within the
Sanctum, and Casikas had provided a guidebook of things to look
out for. I’d studied it thoroughly and memorized most of it, but took it
anyway. Better safe than sorry. Finally, I placed the items that had
cost most of my funds. I stacked more than a dozen scrolls within the
bag, one after another.
Later that evening, I wandered into the Glistening Gate.
I was surprised to find Persephone out and around, speaking to
patrons, playing the part of an ordinary hostess. I caught her eye,
and she held up a single finger without breaking from whatever she
was saying, telling me to wait.
 The official story that had been circulated was that Persephone
had assisted Ralakos in bringing the asmodial legion back in line. It
was one of the prerequisites for her cooperation. As such, she’d
developed something of a reputation for being a hero, and the folk
who now tried to speak with her were those more interested in her
status than her features, which had to be somewhat novel for the
half-demon.
I sidled up to the counter and signaled the bartender, ordering an
Oteron.
“What’s the occasion?” the bartender asked.
“Expensive tastes,” I said. In truth, it was a bit of personal
celebration. The first moment of relaxation I’d allowed myself in quite
some time. The bartender tapped the keg and poured, amber liquid
disappearing in the stein beneath a solid inch of foam, then slid the
drink over the counter to me. I drank a hearty pull and stifled a
cough. It wasn’t yet enough for a buzz, but would be by the end of
the stein.
Damn tolerance.
“The boy’s drink is on the house,” Persephone said. She put a
hand on my shoulder. “And here I thought you’d been avoiding me.”
“Haven’t you heard?” I asked. “I’m a hermit. I avoid everyone.”
“I do hear things, but I thought it unlikely. From everything I
understand, you have a certain proclivity for getting yourself into
trouble.”
That was an understatement.
“How’s your son?” I asked, getting ahead of it.
Her smarmy expression faded into something softer. “Brilliant.
Absent. It was wonderful to finally have him back, for the whole week
it took him to tire of me and depart into the Sanctum. Still, it’s better
than the alternative.”
Persephone’s mismatched eyes bored into me, and it was like
having a conversation without words. She knew, all too well, the
problem that Bacchus’s existence posed for me. She also knew that
there was something off about the fact I had been the messenger
sent to meet him and extend Ralakos’s invitation. But she couldn’t
argue with the end result and had no intention of upsetting the status
quo.
“Come.” She beckoned me with a finger. “I have prepared your
gifts.”
Gifts? Plural?
I followed her past the counter and through the bar. We entered
the office, and she ushered me into a back room. She told me to
face the door, and I obliged. There was a faint brushing noise like the
sound of carpet being lifted, followed by a click of metal.
“Okay.”
I turned back around and did a double take. In her hands,
Persephone held my sword. Only it wasn’t my sword. I’d left it at the
estate, I was confident of that. The blade was almost identical to it,
lowhil, dwarven make. She held it out towards me, and I took it,
looking it over. On closer inspection there were subtle differences. It
was better balanced. The weight had shifted slightly, closer to the
cross guard.
“Channel the flame, if you would,” Persephone instructed. I called
the flame with my free hand. “No.” Persephone pointed to the blade.
“Other one.”
She wanted me to call the flame with the hand that held the
sword?
I did so and nearly jumped when the flame inexplicably spread up
the blade. It didn’t burn quite as brightly as the rose oil had—but it
was more controllable. I banished the flame, and it disappeared
completely, leaving long outlining patterns on the blade that still
glowed purple, cooling down from the heat. I channeled it once
more, and it roared to life, then banished it again.
“What… is this?” I asked.
“It cost a fortune.” Persephone rolled her eyes. “Custom ordered
from a master smith, cagey on the details. One of a pair. I suspect
you know who has the other.”
Bacchus. It made sense his mother wouldn’t send him into the
Sanctum without arming him properly.
“Why give me this?” I asked.
 “Who knows. Perhaps I just had a spare and was feeling
generous.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “You’ve always struck me as the generous sort.
Almost charitable.”
“You’re terribly rude.” Persephone went to her desk, her back to
me, but I saw the hint of a smile on her face. “Fine. It is what it is. My
lot has been thrown in with you and Ralakos. I am invested in your
survival.”
Still not the truth, but closer.
“Speaking of which.” She pulled a small transparent marble out of
the desk and tossed it to me.
I caught it. “And this?”
“If you’re ever in a situation that is insurmountable, throw it on the
ground and stomp on it. Then run,” Persephone said.
That was alarmingly vague. “Run from the situation? Or run from
whatever comes out of the marble?”
“The situation, of course,” Persephone said. But I saw the way
her eyes shifted to the side.
“Any particular reason you’re not specifying?” I asked.
“Yes.” And that was all she was going to give me. I had a feeling
whatever I was holding in my hands was highly illegal. I made a
mental note and placed it in my satchel. Gently.
“Thank you for the gifts.” I bowed to her, and she returned the
gesture. She sent me on my way in the direction of one of her
merchants, who traded with me at a significant discount. Rope.
Chalk to mark passages. Mana-compressed rations.

I woke up, sweating and sick to my stomach. It was pitch black in the
room. Tentatively, I reached up to feel my left eye, making sure it
was still there, only allowing myself to breathe when I found it whole
and unbloodied.
It was a little after four when I gave up trying to go back to sleep
and gathered my things, strapped on my armor, and headed out in
the direction of the lifts.
 To my surprise, a few other infernals my age had already
gathered under the soft glow of the auric moon. Several heads
turned my way. A few of them nodded. They had likely been told I’d
be departing with them. The first human to set foot in the Sanctum in
hundreds of years was big news.
I spotted Bell sitting close to the edge on an upright suitcase, her
sheathed sword poking into the pavement.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I sat down beside her.
Bell started, and the haunted look was quickly replaced with a
crooked smile. “I kept packing and repacking, making sure I had
everything. Then my mind just wouldn’t slow down.”
“Same.”
There was a thump. We both jumped. Jorra had set down a
massive oversized rucksack. His head stuck out over the top of it.
I looked at him doubtfully. “Is there anything you didn’t pack?”
He stared at the giant bag. “I’m gonna be pissed if there is.”
The group waited in silence. No one spoke outside of the
occasional whisper. We all knew what we were there for. I ran over
the objectives in my mind one final time.
Use the ambient mana of the Sanctum and its resources to
continue building my magic. Locate someone who could teach me
the flame so I could open the dimensional gate. Find Morthus.
Get answers.
3
 SANCTUM III

I committed their faces to memory. You never knew who was going
to be important. A lesson that was not so much learned as it was
etched, permanently emblazoned onto my mind in bold,
underlined print. And there was nothing better to begin forging the
bond between random strangers than food. Jorra returned with a
basket of freshly baked bread, and I, working a minor miracle despite
the twilight hours, managed to find an open fishmonger willing to sell
me a bucket of quality roe.
There was the issue of image, of course. It would send the wrong
message if I walked around offering food, and given my status and
situation, such gifts would likely be rejected.
Instead, I set the bucket down with a weighty thump, plopped
down with Jorra and Bellarex, and began to eat, effectively having a
picnic in a throng of hungry faces. The bread and roe were left out in
the open where anyone could reach them. Stomachs rumbled, and
eyes wandered. Perhaps it was pride, but it took longer than I
expected for them to break.
A small infernal with an overly boyish face was the first. He
grunted, pushing himself to his feet. He walked over to us, reaching
in his pocket to pull out a clinking bag.
“What’s your name?” I interjected suddenly, throwing him off
balance.
“Oh, uh, Thythor, Your Grace.”
“Greetings, Thythor,” I said. “No need for titles. We’re a long way
from Whitefall. Would you be willing to do me a favor?”
 “What sort of favor?” His voice wobbled. It was clear he was
hungry, but nervous speaking in front of a large, nearly silent
audience.
“My friend and I made a bit of a miscalculation,” I said. Jorra hid a
smile. “We’re both victims of mercantile cunning of the most devilish
sort. The baker was in dire straits. Practically foisted this
burdensome collection of bread onto him. And I realized, in my
haste, I had forgotten a critical component. A bucket.”
There was a single snort near the back of the group.
I continued, “The fishmonger, divining my situation, took brutal
advantage of me, refusing to sell what I needed unless I allowed him
to fill it with roe and pay the difference.”
Thythor seemed to understand that the joke I was making was
not at his expense. “That sounds like a problem.”
“Indeed.”
A few snickers sounded out. At the edge of my vision, Bellarex’s
shoulders were shaking in barely withheld laughter.
Thythor helped himself to a piece of bread larger than his hand
and tore it open, stooping down to fill it with the glistening orange
eggs from the bucket.
“Ah. A solution presents itself,” I said. And then the levee broke.
One by one, the once silent infernals approached, helping
themselves to breakfast and alleviating my burden. Thythor’s group
was first. He introduced the large boy with overdeveloped horns as
Aranxus, and an infernal with a girlish braid as Spira. I talked to them
briefly before they were replaced by the next group.
Mistish and Yora came next, a pair of sisters who introduced
themselves to be earth magicians, likely from a wealthy family based
on the quality of their gear and the lofty way they held themselves.
The next group was all male, all violet: Dharvir, Mavrus, and
Briseis. Dharvir had a smug smile on his face, as if he wanted me to
know he had seen through my little charade and appreciated it.
Mavrus and Briseis just looked happy to eat.
A half-dozen others followed, and I learned their names and a
little about their backgrounds.
 The quiet, nervous tension of the group had broken. They
mingled. Occasional sharp outbursts of laughter were followed by
equally amused shushes and glances towards nearby houses with
darkened windows.
Before we knew it, the sun had risen.

The departing group was much larger than the one Maya had left
with. Maya’s group was one of the many smaller departures that took
place after the primary expeditions, while the timing of mine had
coincided with the primary expedition itself. A noisy thrall of parents
and loved ones giving last-minute advice to their children gave the
scene a manic buzz.
Bellarex and I stood alone nearest the platform, watching the
affairs quietly.
Jorra embraced Nethtari and Kilvius simultaneously. He smiled
and said something I couldn’t make out, and ruffled the hair on
Agarin’s head; hair that once was wispy and sparse had now grown
thick in my absence. There was a strange ache that came from the
sight. It was the first time I’d seen them all together since I’d quietly
packed my things and moved into Ralakos’s estate. Like seeing an
artist’s rendition of a moment that had meant one thing when it was
captured, and now meant something else entirely.
“Jorra’s lucky,” Bell said. I barely heard her over the noise of the
crowd.
“Yes, he is,” I answered.
There was a sharp whistle that dampened the noise. The guard
operating the lift lowered two fingers from his mouth and gestured
towards it in the universal sign to get a move on. Bellarex grabbed
her single suitcase and headed towards the lift, ready and eager.
I was about to follow, but I saw Kilvius making his way towards
me.
Shit.
I braced myself. It had been too much to hope that I’d avoid this
conversation entirely. He smiled and held out his arm, and I clasped
it.
“The time has passed too quickly,” Kilvius said. “Do you feel
ready?”
“As ready as I can be.” I paused. My first instinct was to explain,
to apologize. He had been the driving force of trying to bring me
back into the fold, and I had practically ignored him for his efforts.
“Remember everything you’ve learned. Everything you’ve
practiced.” He looked around us. “You’re further along than most. Be
smart. Be safe.”
“I will,” I said.
“Little help?” Jorra said. His oversized bag was tilted the wrong
way and hemorrhaging contents that fell onto the ground, some of it
stepped on by a forest of feet and legs.
Kilvius shot me an apologetic look and went to help his son.
Nethtari stood behind him, and our eyes met. There was an
uncomfortable instant where I thought she might turn away, but
instead she cocked her head slightly, summoning me.
I approached, anxious. She did not meet my gaze, rather stared
off towards her family as son and father navigated their hefty
luggage in the direction of the lift.
“You look well. Like you’ve been sleeping better.” All said without
looking at me directly.
“There’s certainly more of it. Sleep. Don’t know if I’d quantify it as
better. Just higher volume, more consistency,” I said, hating myself
for rambling. What was I supposed to say?
“Yes. Sleep has lost much of its charm as of late,” Nethtari said. I
noted for the first time the dark bags around her eyes.
“Work been keeping you busy?” I tried.
Her head tilted slightly so she could look at me. “Yes. Shall we
talk about the weather next?”
Ouch. I held my tongue.
Nethtari placed a hand to her forehead. “That was uncalled for.
I’ve been preoccupied lately.”
“If…” I started, then stopped. It was the one conversation we’d
never had the chance to have. The crowd was thinning. I lowered my
voice. “If you want me away from Jorra, I’ll honor your wishes. It’ll be
easy enough to find someone to replace me once we’re down there.”
“And you?” Nethtari raised an eyebrow. “Will it be easy for you to
replace them?”
I didn’t have to answer. It would not be hard to find others. The
demon-fire made me an exotic acquisition; the fact that I hit well
above my weight was just a bonus. I could find others. But it would
not be the same.
Nethtari interrupted before I could voice any of that. “I’m his
mother. I know exactly how much time you’ve spent working with
them. That the reason he acquired such excellent control was either
because of you or your close affiliation with Ralakos.”
“I just pointed him in the right direction,” I admitted.
The guard whistled, this time directly at me, the unamused look
on his face communicating that he would not be waiting long, giving
me an excellent excuse to slip away and lick my wounds. Before I
could, Nethtari caught me by the arm. She was looking at the ground
now, her gaze once again averted from mine.
“There’s a reason that people are naturally selfish. If you continue
to sacrifice yourself, to take actions that directly put you in harm’s
way for the sake of others… what will you do when there is nothing
left to give?” Nethtari asked. I could hear it in her voice. The struggle.
There was nothing I could say.
I left her and took my place on the lift. The railing snapped into
place, and gears shifted, the massive wires lowering us down into
the dark.

There was a silent journey through the caves that reminded me of

the Twilight Chambers, following lanterns mounted on walls that
burned with a dull green light. My ears popped several times despite
the absence of any real change of elevation. My skin itched. I wasn’t
the only one. I saw several of the accompanying infernals rubbing
their arms, one bending down to massage her calf as if to awaken it
from sleep.
 It took a while to recognize the sensation as an amplified version
of what I felt when I was meditating to recover mana. Only instead of
having to focus to gather it, it flowed like the white rapids of a river,
dashing against me, drowning me. My head began to pound.
One of our escorts called a halt. He retreated a few yards back
into the passage to vomit and returned looking pale. It seemed to
affect the adults and conservators—students of the Sanctum who
had reached their final two years—the most.
I placed my hand against the wall and doubled over slightly,
gritting my teeth. Jorra took a half-step towards me and stopped to
pant with his hands on his knees. Bellarex looked fine, almost
confused, like she couldn’t understand what the problem was.
Someone placed a hand on my chest and another on the small of
my back, forcing me to stand upright. I recognized the face. Irtek, the
conservator who had met us at the mouth of the tunnel. He had the
stuffy look of an accountant.
“Stand up.” His voice was quiet and sympathetic, almost
feminine. “You want to make sure your channels are open and
unobstructed as they expand. Wouldn’t want to get stuck like that.”
I had no idea whether that was a joke. But I followed his
instructions, unable to speak, unable to fully catch my breath.
“In through your nose, out through your mouth.” He demonstrated
with practiced flair.
“Why is she okay?” Jorra pointed at Bellarex. He had
straightened himself up, though he was still cowed at the neck. Irtek
moved on from me to him, correcting his posture.
“Why is she okay?” Irtek cocked his head and walked over to
Bellarex. “Hey, you!” When Bellarex didn’t immediately respond, he
poked her once in the side. She shied away from him, eyes wide.
“You’re not one of those, are you? The ones who seem fine but
randomly pass out and slip into a chasm?”
Again, I hoped he was joking.
“Voidling,” one of our fellow travelers huffed out in disdain.
“Ah,” Irtek said. “Then you will do well now and have problems
later. We’ll talk when we arrive at the Heart. There are things you
should know to expect.”
 “Wait, what?” Bell said. “Why didn’t anyone tell me this before?
What affects void differently in the Sanctum? What problems?” She
sounded fascinated rather than concerned.
“Later.” Irtek jutted a finger at her in warning.
Bell took a tentative step away from him and behind Jorra, as if to
ward off any future prodding. Irtek moved on to the others, doing for
them what he had done for me.
“I don’t like him,” Bell whispered loudly enough that she was
undoubtedly heard.
The guards left us soon after, having gone as far as they could
travel safely. We emerged as if coming out of the mouth of a cave.
My first thought was that we had. That we’d taken a wrong turn
somewhere and somehow ended up on the surface. White clouds
covered the sky above, and endless rolling grassland extended out
before us.
But the landscape wasn’t quite right. There were few trees; the
ones that existed were gnarled and barren, growing out at strange
angles, traveling up for a few feet before jutting sideways or even
looping back down.
I crouched and plucked a blade of grass. The hue wasn’t green; it
was closer to blue, the slight breeze and hilly terrain giving the
appearance of a frozen, shimmering sea.
“Wow,” Bell said, voice tinged with awe. She was looking up at
the clouds thousands of feet above. A patch had opened, revealing a
canopy of rock that was quickly covered by what I slowly came to
understand as not clouds, but a thick fog. The fog seemed to stretch
downward towards the horizon, shrouding the view miles away from
sight.
“Where’s the light coming from?” Jorra questioned, scanning the
dome.
I chuckled. The Sanctum had been shrouded in secrecy since I’d
arrived. Yet Casikas had chattered on constantly about the
uniqueness of the vegetation, used adjectives like beautiful and
exquisite, and I had puzzled over it, wondering how a cave could
even approach that description. It was something that had to be
seen. And now, having seen it, the name felt all too fitting. This was
a sacred place.
There was a pop and a hiss. I spun around, following the turning
heads. I didn’t spot it at first, still disoriented from the change in
scenery. When I finally saw it, my heart sank. The entrance within
the mountain of rock we’d emerged from was covered with a thin
orange film that pulsed malevolently.
Irtek pushed his way through the group and hurried over to it. But
before he even approached, before he turned to us, face grim, and
told us to hurry on our way, I knew the truth. The way was barred.
And the blessed silence of the Sanctum was shattered as my
ears began to ring.
4
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Mismoedig en troosteloos het ek op die was wat ek opgemaak het,
gaan sit en die dag van my geboorte verwens. Ek kan nie onthou dat
ek al ooit van te vore so sleg gevoel het of so ontevrede met my lot
was nie. Meteens hoor ek voetstappe kort agter my. Ek draai my om
en kyk in die skelm oë van die man wat ek die allerminste sou
verlang het om te sien. Neef, ek moet erken dat al die onderdrukte
hartstogte van die laaste ag maande my in ’n oogwenk oormeester
het, en as daar ’n wapen op die oomblik binne my bereik was, sou
ek ’n moord begaan het. Ja, as Freek my ook in die minste
beledigend aangespreek het, soos hy in die laaste tyd nooit nagelaat
het om te doen nie, dan sou ek hom daar en dan op die plek verwurg
het. Begryp dus my verbasing toe hy ewe saggies—ten minste so
vals vleiend as hy kon—vir my goeiendag sê en na my welstand en
dié van tant Lenie verneem. Ek was so uit die veld geslaan dat ek
niks kon antwoord nie.
„Is dit nou weer een van Freek se skelmstreke? dog ek by myself,
en opnuut sien ek net rooi.
„‚Kyk hier, Freek, as jy weer gekom het om met my te spot en jou
in my ellende te verheug, dan hoe gouer jy jou pestelike
teenwoordigheid hier verwyder hoe beter, anders begaan ek so
waaragtig as wat ek lewe vandag ’n moord!’
„Maar Freek bly maar staan, en hoewel hy so effentjies bleker
word, gaan hy voort: ‚Nee, Omie, ek kom nie spot nie; ek kom
besigheid praat.’
„‚Besigheid!’ skree ek; ja neef, ek het nou nie meer gepraat nie.
‚Besigheid! Jou godvergete niksnuts! Praat jy van besigheid met my
wat jy tot die bedelaarstaf gebring het! ... Vrou!’ brul ek, en my stem
het vir my eie ore vreemd geklink, ‚Vrou, bring hier die roer; hier is ’n
duiwel en ek wil hom hel-toe stuur, waar hy tuis hoort!’
„Neef, ek wens jy kon Freek se gesig toe gesien het. Al die sluheid
het soos ’n toorslag daarvan verdwyn en plek gemaak vir bange
vrees. Die vent was op daardie oomblik nog afskuweliker as die
lelikste onder die beeste. Wat praat ek van beeste? Dis ’n belediging
vir die diere om die laagste onder hulle met so ’n skepsel te
vergelyk.
 „Op hierdie moment verskyn my vrou op die toneel, anders huiwer
ek om te dink wat sou gebeur het. Jy weet sy het altyd ’n
kalmerende invloed op my, neef. Sy is ’n engel, neef, en sy hoort nie
op die aarde tuis nie. Ek wonder wat sy ooit in my kon gesien het om
met my te trou? Haar gelyke loop daar nie op hierdie wêreld rond
nie. Maar, neef, ek dwaal af van my storie. So gaan dit altyd as ek
van tant Lenie begin te praat. Jy weet, neef...”
„Ja, Oom, ek weet daar is maar net een tant Lenie op hierdie ou
aardbol. En wat maak Oom toe?”
„Toe maak ek niks, neef. Wat kon ek maak met daardie
verwytende blik van tant Lenie op my gerig? Soos ek reeds hierbo
opgemerk het, neef, is sy mos nie ’n gewone mens nie en....”
„Ja, Oom, sy is ’n engel. Maar wat het Freek toe gemaak?”
„Freek het ook niks gemaak nie, neef; hy het net sy droë lippe
natgelek en toe stamel hy voordat ek nog weer die woord kan kry:
‚Maar oom Piet, ek kom met Oom reëlinge tref oor die afbetaling van
die £1,500 wat ek aan Oom skuld!’
„Ek kon maar nog nie glo dat Freek dit opreg meen nie en wou net
vorentoe spring om hom aan sy strot te gryp, toe ek weer daardie
selfde verwytende blik van tant Lenie gewaar. Neef, het jy al ooit ’n
vrou met sulke oë gesien? Die diepte van die hemel en die teerheid
van...”
„Ja, Oom, dis waar. Tant Lenie het wonderlike oë, maar Oom het
laas opgehou by Freek se strot en die kontras tussen tant Lenie se
hemelse oë en....”
„Ja, neef, dis ook waar; ek dwaal alte maklik af as ek van tant
Lenie praat.”
„‚Gee vir Freek ’n kans om te sê wat hy te vertel het, en bedwing
jouself, Piet,’ sê tant Lenie op daardie sagte dog gebiedende toon
wat haar alleen eie is. Jy weet, neef, ek glo nie daar is nog ’n vrou
met so ’n stem soos tant Lenie nie. As sy praat dan....”
„Dan moet Oom stilbly. Maar het Freek toe besigheid gepraat?”
 „Hy het, neef. Hy transporteer sy huisie, sy biljartkamer en sy kafè
op my naam, en boonop betaal hy my £500 kontant as ek wil afsien
van die £1,500 wat ek indertyd vir hom moes inbetaal en my mond
wil hou. Wat hy met die laaste sin bedoel, weet ek nie, want ek het
buitendien nooit oor hierdie ou transaksie gepraat nie. Maar ek het
darem belowe.
„Ek wou eers nie sy geld en goed vat nie, en was dit nie dat ek
voor my oë gesien het hoedat tant Lenie by die dag agteruit gaan
nie, dan het ek hom eerder by die gruisgat afgeskop. Maar die
gesondheid en die welstand van tant Lenie het die deurslag gegee
en ek het sy aanbod aanvaar.
„Maar, neef, weet jy miskien wat Freek beweeg het om dit te
doen? Dis opmerklik dat dit juis gebeur het op die dag van jou
besoek.” En hier kyk oom Pieter my so stip in die oë dat my gesig
amper die geheim verklap het.
„En wanneer is Freek dan toe weg van Kreepoort af?”
„Ek sal vertel, neef. Ja, die arme Freek het dit die laaste week
voor sy vertrek maar smoor gehad hier op die delwery. Het jy al
gehoor hoedat Jan Pieterse, sy voorman, hom deur-geloop het? Ek
het nie, sê jy. Maar man, dan was jy amper een van die beste
grappe kwyt wat hier ooit plaasgevind het... Het jy al ooit opgelet hoe
daar in party diere meer karakter sit as in ander van dieselfde soort?
Ek herinner my nog goed dat my pa twee osse gehad het: die een
was ’n skoorsoeker van die eerste water en baie parmantig, maar by
die werk het hy maar min beteken en het hy geen hart gehad nie,
terwyl die ander weer goed van geaardheid was en ’n baastrekker.
Jentelman was ’n vooros en, soos ek reeds aangemerk het, ’n
staatmaker. Net agter hom het Koerland getrek, wat dit nooit kon
nalaat om Jentelman net wanneer hy die kans kry ’n gevoelige stoot
met sy skerp horings te gee nie. In die veld het Jentelman gewoonlik
padgegee, maar in die juk was dit natuurlik buite die kwessie, en ek
het al die idee begin te kry dat die vooros maar ’n bangbroek was.
Op ’n goeie dag het ons gebraak en die osse het noustrop getrek.
Elke keer by die draai moes die arme Jentelman dit ontgeld en die
skerp horings van Koerland voel. Om twaalfuur word afgehak om die
osse ’n paar uur rus te gee. By so ’n geleentheid gee Jentelman
gewoonlik ver pad vir Koerland en gaan hy rustig op sy wei, maar
vandag kon ’n mens somar aan sy hele houding sien dat sy geduld
uitgeput was. Om ’n lang storie kort te maak: Koerland het die eerste
die beste kans gevat om Jentelman ’n gevoelige stoot in die ribbekas
te gee. En toe was die gort gaar. Jentelman spring om, en daar is die
twee diere aanmekaar. Koerland kon vir ’n maand lank nie ploeg trek
nie.
„Nou, neef, so wou ek maar sê is dit by die mens net soos by die
dier; en jy wat so baie met mense te doen het, sal dit wel self al
opgemerk het. Ek wou maar net duidelik gemaak het dat Jan
Pieterse my altyd aan Jentelman, en Freek Willemse my aan
Koerland laat dink het.
„Baiekeer as ek verby Willemse se kleim stap, het ek moes
aansien en aanhoor hoe Freek die arme Jan Pieterse boelie. Ek het
dié Jan bewonder vir sy geduld en verdraagsaamheid, maar in my
hart het ek hom tog as lafaard bestempel.
„Een agtermiddag moes ek daar weer verby en hoor hoe Freek die
arme Jan slegsê en uitvloek. Dit was net die dag na hy sy huisie en
die ander twee geboue op my getransporteer het. Jy weet mos hoe
praat Freek, nè, as die duiwel in hom gevaar het. Hy begin
daaronder in die diepte, en sy stem klim altoos hoër en hoër totdat
dit eindelik in ’n langgerekte gehuil—soos dié van ’n nadroejakkals—
wegsterf. Nie tevrede om Jan uit te maak vir alles wat laag en
gemeen is nie, en dit nogal in die teenwoordigheid van die kaffers,
spring hy naderhand af in die kleim waar Jan en die volk werk, en
gee sy voorman ’n raps met sy handsambok dwars oor sy kop. Neef,
glo my as ek jou sê, dit was weer ’n Jentelman en ’n Koerland wat ek
daaronder in die kleim sien, maar net baie komiekliker. In ’n kits het
Jan Pieterse die handsambok uit Freek se hand geruk en looi hy
Freek net so lustig as hy kon. Dit het Willemse nie verwag nie, en
soos ’n kat probeer hy by die kleim uitklouter sonder om hom in die
minste te versit. Jy weet die gruis hierlangs sit baie diep, nè. Elke
keer nes Freek amper bo is, gryp Jan hom aan die voet met die
linkerhand, en terwyl hy hom aftrek na onder, steek hy hom los met
die regterhand. Die kaffers skree dit uit van louter vreugde, en die
toeskouers, wat nou al aansienlik in getal aangegroei het, hou hulle
sye vas soos hulle lag. Dit was rêrig te komiek!
„Freek het die dag na die pak spoorloos verdwyn, en niemand
weet wat van hom geword het nie. En dit was ook maar die beste
wat hy kon gedoen het, want sy dae op Kreepoort was getel.
Buitendien glo ek dat die poliesie ook vir hom soek, want hulle vertel
dat hy ’n hele reeks misdade op sy kerfstok het. Maar neef, verveel
ek jou nie?”
„Nee, glad nie, Oom. Inteendeel, daar is nog iets wat ek darem
graag van Oom wil geweet het. Ek kon nie help om op te merk dat
Oom se taal nou heelwat.....”
„Sê maar gerus fatsoenliker,” val die oubaas my in die rede.
„Ja, Oom, fatsoenliker en beskaafder is as twee maande gelede.
Het Oom dan al so gou weer Oom se oordeel oor die Voorsienigheid
gewysig, en moet ek dit toeskrywe aan die meer gegoede
omstandighede waarin Oom nou verkeer?”
„Neef, ek het gehoop dat jy my hierdie verklaring sou spaar, want
ek praat liewers nie oor hierdie saak nie. Kyk, laat ek dan somar van
die staanspoor af sê dat ek my skaam dat ek my daardie dag so
vergeet het in jou teenwoordigheid. Maar neef, ek was in elk geval
eerlik en het toe gepraat soos ek in daardie dae gevoel het. Man, toe
die teenspoed my tref en ek in daardie ellende verkeer, het ek vir die
eerste keer besef hoe ’n skynheilige lewe ek van te vore gelei het. Al
my vroomheid was niks anders as selfbedrog gewees nie; en ek
bloos om dit te getuig, maar my ouderlingskap en huisgodsdiens en
gebede was alles skyn. Toe daardie mantel van geveinsdheid in die
diepte van my ellende van my afval, staan Piet Legransie in al sy
naaktheid daar, en toe sou ek eers besef hoe werklik bedorwe ek
was. Dit was net in daardie tyd wat jy my op die delwerye raak-
geloop het, en jy sal miskien nou beter my taal van toe kan verklaar.
Maar ek dwaal af. Kyk, ek wil nie ons kerk blameer nie, maar dit lyk
tog vir my of dit alte gemaklik is om lid te word of as ouderling en
diaken te dien. Ek glo ons Dominee noem die lede van my soort:
mooiweer-kristene, en hy is reg ook. Maar ek wonder tog of hy sou
weet hoeveel van my soort daar nog in sy kerk is?...
 „Daardie aand na Freek Willemse weg is en ek as deur ’n wonder
uit my haglike toestand gered was, het tant Lenie met my gepraat
soos sy nog nooit van te vore gedoen het nie. Ek mag nie vertel wat
daar alles plaasgevind het nie, maar ek het my opnuut leer ken soos
ek is en nie soos ek graag in die oog van die wêreld wil lyk nie. En jy
weet, neef, dit beteken vir ’n mens al ontsaglik baie. Ek sien jy word
haastig. Met jou verlof sal ons hierdie saak nooit weer aanroer nie.”
By myself dink ek hoe goed dit sou wees as meer mense,
waaronder die skrywer, hierdie ware selfkennis besit.
„En gaan Oom nou vir altyd op die delwerye bly?”
„O nee, neef! Sodra ek ’n koper kan kry vir hierdie ongewenste
beslommering wat ek die trotse eienaar van is—met bytende
sarkasme uitgespreek—dan skud ek vir ewig die stof van die
delwerye van my voete af. Welgevonde is weer in die mark; ek hoor
die Bank wat dit destyds vir skuld moes inneem, wil graag die plaas
van die hand sit. Wie weet, moontlik heet ek jou nog aankomende
jaar welkom in die ou huis.”
 INTELLIGENSIE-TOETSE.
I.
Die Afrikaners aap baie graag na. En meesal vergeet hulle om
eers te gaan sit en die koste te bereken. ’n Paar studente gaan
Duitsland-toe, kom as hooggeleerde doktore terug, vertel ons dat
ons hele opvoedkundige stelsel verkeerd is, en ons sê onmiddellik ja
en amen daarop. „In Duitsland maak hulle so en so en so, en ons
behoort dit hier ook te doen!” roep een van die intellektuele reuse, en
dadelik word deur die lengte en die breedte van die land deur middel
van die pers uitgebasuin dat al ons skole volgens Duitse model moet
ingerig word. Wie nie saamstem nie, word vir bekrompe en
ongeleerd uitgeskel. So was dit vanselewe toe ons ’n Skotse
onderwysstelsel ingevoer het, en so gaan dit vandag nog. In plaas
dat ons gaan sit en ’n suiwer Suid-Afrikaanse stelsel ontwerp wat
rekening hou met Suid-Afrikaanse toestande, neul ons aljimmers
met ingevoerde artiekels. In stede van Suid-Afrikaanse skoene te
dra, dwing ons ons voete om te groei volgens die formaat van
ingevoerde stewels. As ons streng eerlik met onsself wil wees, dan
sal ons moet erken dat ons patriotisme waarop ons kamtig so trots
is, dikwels selfbedrog is. Ons strewe na die vreemde en uitheemse
en jaag dit na asof ons hele saligheid daarvan afhang.
En so het ons eindelik tot die ontdekking gekom dat ’n mens die
kind se intellek kan meet! Dis nie juis ’n nuwe teorie nie, want iets
wat bestaan kan ’n mens meet, hoewel so ’n metery dikwels tot
absurde gevolgtrekkings lei. Die kopbeen van ’n idiotiese ou
Boesman word in Taungs per ongeluk opgegrawe, en nadat
sorgvuldige afmetings van die lengte, hoogte en breedte gemaak is,
beweer die een groot geleerde na die ander dat eindelik die skedel
van ons ou stamvaderlike aap ontdek is! O tempora! O mores!
 So wou ek maar net gesê het dat dit miskien wel moontlik sal blyk
om die menslike verstand te meet, maar dan moet rekening gehou
word met baie meer omstandighede as wat nou gebeur. Dis mos tog
dwaasheid om te reken dat ’n stel intelligensie-toetse wat opgetrek is
vir ’n Johannesburgse seun, toepaslik sal wees om die verstand te
meet van ’n seun wat sy hele lewe op die delwerye geslyt het.
Onmoontlik sal dit seker nie blyk om intelligensie-toetse vir die
delwerskind op te stel nie, maar dan moet in gedagte gehou word al
die omstandighede wat op sy ontwikkeling ingewerk het: sy huislike
lewe, sy vermake, sy skool.
Maar nou kom een en ander van die jonger deskundiges vars uit
een van Amerika se uniwersiteite met ’n volledige stel intelligensie-
toetse volgens Terman, en kom pas dit somar onvervals toe op Suid-
Afrikaanse kinders, om uit te vind of die bloedjies hoër of laer staan
as hulle Amerikaanse nefies en niggies! ’n Ander bring weer die
Binet-toetse in sy hand-sakkie saam en verklaar met fronsende
voorhoof en treurige hoofskudding dat ons seuns en dogters agter is
vir hulle Europese boeties en sussies. ’n Derde gee Cyril Burt se
intelligensie-toetse netso onvervals en maak dan sy gevolgtrekkings!
As dit nie was dat die leser my miskien met Ananias sou
klassifiseer nie, dan het ek hier opgeteken ’n stel intelligensie-toetse
wat aan sekere skole in Transvaal gestuur is, met die versoek aan
die onderwyser om dit in sy klas af te neem. Die resultate moes
opgestuur word om te sien hoeveel normale kinders ons in hierdie
deel van die provinsie besit. Ek verstaan dat die uitslae uiters
teleurstellend was. En g’n wonder nie, want die meeste vrae was
absurditeite. Een toets moet tog aan die vergetelheid ontruk word,
en dis die volgende: „Wat sou jy doen as jy nog ’n hele ent van die
skool af is en die klok hoor lui?”
Nou glo ek dat dat die kind moes antwoord dat hy sou hardloop
dat die stof so staan om darem nog te trag om betyds te kom, maar
die delwerseun dink glad anders oor die saak, en hier volg enige van
die antwoorde:

(1) Ek sou ’n paar skrifte agter by my broek insteek.

 (2) Ek sou omdraai en my pa gaan help.
(3) Ek sou sê my ma het my uitgestuur en dat ek moes wag.
(4) Ek sou sweer dat ek ons donkies moes gaan keer.
(5) Ons skool het nie ’n klok nie; Meester blaas op ’n fluitjie.
(6) Ons sou nie die klok hoor nie; ons donkiekar raas te baie.

Geeneen van die voorgaande antwoorde het enige punte behaal

nie! Die opsteller was verbaas oor die onbegaafdheid van Kreepoort
se delwerskinders!

II.

„Hoogsbenoke,
14 Junie 1925.
Mnr.............,
Skoolinspekteur,
Smartendal.
Die outoriteite het my verlof gegee om die intelligensie van
sekere delwerskinders in u kring te kom meet, en my gevra
om sake verder met u te reël. Sal u tog so goed wees om my
per ommegaande te laat weet watter dae vir u gerieflik sal
wees, en of u my sal vergesel?
(Get.) D. E. M. Fohl, Ph. D.,
ens., ens., ens.”

Die voorgaande brief het ek beleef beantwoord en die geleerde

heer laat weet dat hy baie welkom sou wees op Smartendal op die
28ste Junie en volgende dae. Ek sou met hom saamgaan om
meteen ook te kan profiteer van sy ondervinding en kennis op die
gebied van die intelleksbepaling.
 Die 28ste Junie het eindelik aangebreek, en om neënuur stap dr.
Fohl by my kantoordeur in. ’n Mens moes hom van naby sien om sy
persoon behoorlik te kan appresieer! Sy hele voorkome het jou
onwillekeurig aan ’n ontvlugte kranksinnige herinner. Sy oë staan
verwild in sy kop; sy hare—en die vent het ’n vreeslike bossiekop
gehad, netsoos die meeste mal mense het—is ongekam. Daarby dra
hy ’n groot skilpadbril, wat nie juis sy uiterlik verbeter het nie. Hy stap
so vinnig op my af dat ek begin bang word het dat hy dwars oor my
sou struikel.
„Môre!” sê hy, „is jy die skoolinspekteur?” met die nadruk op die jy.
„Goeiemôre,” antwoord ek, „en wie is u?” met die nadruk op die u.
„Wat!” roep hy, „meen jy te sê jy ken nie vir my nie?”
„Nee,” antwoord ek ewe bedees, want miskien had ek te doen met
’n seur of ’n graaf of so iets, „ek ken u nie.”
„Ek is dr. Fohl. Het jy nog nooit van my gehoor nie?”
„Dit spyt my om u teleur te stel; glad nie. Ek het nog net eenmaal
van u gehoor en dit was toe ek u brief ontvang het.”
„Dis snaaks, want op die Rand is ek welbekend; ek wou amper sê
beroemd. My portret was in byna al die dagblaaie.”
„Bedoel u onder die advertensies van De Wit se pille of Moeder
Seigel’s stroop?” vra ek ewe onskuldig.
Dit was die moeite werd om die kêrel se gesig te sien. Ek dag hy
sou ’n oorval kry.
„Probeer jy om snaaks te wees, of is dit maar net wat ’n mens te
wagte moet wees van julle buite-inspekteurs?” voeg hy my bits toe.
Sonder om op sy woorde ag te slaan, vat ek my hoed en my jas,
stap na die moter toe, maak die deurtjie oop vir hom en klim self in.
„Ons sal maar met die grootste skool begin,” sê ek, „en dan sal u
self kan oordeel of dit die moeite werd sal wees om met die toetse
voort te gaan.”
 Ons het ’n rit van ’n goeie twintig myl voor gehad, en ’n hele ruk
het hy stil gesit sonder om sy mond oop te maak, en ek het hom nie
gestoor nie. Maar eindelik het die stilswye hom begin te verveel.
„Hou jy nog jou inspeksie op die ouderwetse manier?” vra hy.
„Ek weet nie reg wat u bedoel nie,” sê ek.
„Stel jy jou vrae om die kinders se kennis te toets, of probeer jy om
daardeur hulle intelligensie te bepaal?” gaan hy voort.
„Albei,” was my antwoord, „want dis nog al taamlik moeilik om
altyd juis die lyn te trek tussen kennis en intelligensie.”
„Nonsens,” sê hy met soveel nadruk dat ek byna in ’n sloot ry met
die moter. „Nonsens! Dis gemaklik, en as jy dit nog nie kan doen nie,
dan behoort jy nie inspekteur van onderwys te wees nie.”
Ek was egter nie uit die veld geslaan nie.
„Neem nou die geval van my eie seuntjie van vyf jaar,” gaan ek
voort, „as jy vir hom moes vra hoekom ’n voëltjie, hoewel hy
swaarder weeg as lug, nie grond-toe val as hy vlie nie, dan sal hy jou
dadelik die antwoord kan gee. Hoekom? Omdat sy boetie wat
veertien jaar oud is, baie belangstel in vliegtuie en hy van hom
geleer het wat dinamiese krag beteken. Die toepassing op die vlie
van die voëltjie doen hy self. Sou jy in hierdie geval die vraag beskou
as ’n toets vir sy intelligensie, of van sy kennis? Jy sal my seker wil
gewonne gee as ek sê dat dit moeilik is om hier ’n definitiewe lyn te
trek tussen sy intelligensie en sy kennis. Verder is dit duidelik dat die
meeste kinders van sy leeftyd die vraag nie sou kan beantwoord nie,
tensy hulle ook boeties het om hulle op dié punt in te lig.”
Maar dr. Fohl het my met minagtende stilswye bejeën en iets
binnensmonds gemompel wat baie soos sy naam met die voorletters
geklink het.
Die twintig myl was tog eindelik op ’n end, en ons hou voor die
skool stil. Nog nooit het my die pad so lank gelyk nie.
Die nuus van die hooggeleerde dokter wat ’n kind se verstand kan
meet, het ons vooruit-gesnel; en toe ons by die skool stilhou, was
daar ’n hele klomp delwers met vrouens en kinders, en die
skoolkommissie was ook voltallig. Almal het gekom om die
wonderdokter te sien.
By die afklim storm almal op ons toe.
„Sal die dokter tog nie vir my vrou iets gee nie; sy ly so aan die
asma?” vra een hier agter my, en dit het my ’n geruime tyd geneem
om die goeie mense dit aan die verstand te bring dat ons geleerde
vriend nie ’n medisynmeester is nie, maar wel ’n verstandsmeter.
„’n Landmeter ken ons,” sê een van die ouers, „maar ’n
verstandsmeter het ons nog nooit van gehoor nie. En hoe gaan hy
miskien ’n kind se verstand meet? Dis mos ’n ongehoorde iets.”
„Kyk, Oom,” sê ek aan die voorsitter van die skoolkommissie, „dit
sal beste wees dat die skoolkommissie die toetse bywoon, dan kan
die lede vir hulleself oordeel. Maar versoek tog asseblief die ander
vriende om te vertrek. Hulle sal môre kan verneem hoe dit met die
geestes-gawes van hulle kinders gesteld is.”
Hierdie suggestie het byval gevind en die ouers het vertrek.

III.
Aan die gesigte van die skoolkommissie kon ek sien dat hul nou
iets wonderliks verwag. Wat vir toormiddels gaan die kêrel gebruik?
„Seker so ’n dingetjie soos die dokters gebruik om te hoor of ’n mens
hartkloppens het,” fluister een.
„Nee wat,” waag ’n ander, „hulle sê hy kyk somar binne in ’n kind
se kop met daardie groot bril van hom.”
Soortgelyke en nog heelwat minder vleiende opmerkings van die
kant van die skoolkommissie-lede het ek opgevang.
Nou neem die toetsery ’n aanvang. Elke leerling kry ’n papiertjie
waarop tien vrae gedruk is, en hierdie tien vrae moes in seker
bepaalde tyd beantwoord word. Volgens die antwoorde word dan die
kind se intelligensie bepaal.
Hier volg enige van die toetse vir kinders van elf jaar:
 (1) Jan val van sy fiets af en is bewusteloos. Hy stap na die dokter
vir hulp.
Wat is verkeerd met hierdie voorval?
(2) Eendag het die poliesie die lyk van ’n arme kind by die spruit
gekry. Die liggaam was in 18 stukke opgesny. Die hoofkonstabel
reken dat die kind selfmoord gepleeg het.
Is dit moontlik?
(3) Ek het drie broers: Jan, Piet en ek.
Sou jy dit netso gesê het?
(4) Gister het daar ’n treinongeluk gebeur en vyftig mense het
verongeluk. Die koerante sê dis gelukkig nie so danig ernstig nie.
Is die koerante reg?
(5) As iemand jou opienie vra oor ’n seun of dogter wat jy nie goed
ken nie, wat sou jy antwoord?
(6) Veronderstel dat jy iets moet onderneem wat baie belangrik is,
wat sou jy heel eerste doen?
(7) Waarom moet ’n mens iemand oordeel by wat hy doen en nie
by wat hy sê hy sal doen nie?
(8) In julle skool speel een-derde van die kinders voetbal en een-
derde speel krieket. Is daar nou kinders wat nòg die een nòg die
ander speel? Is daar kinders wat albei speel?
(9) Aalwyn en rubber groei in warm landstreke. Gras en
heiblommetjies groei in kouer landstreke. Heiblomme en rubber wil
klam grond hê; gras en aalwyn wil nie alte baie nattigheid hê nie. By
die Amasonerivier is dit baie warm en baie nat. Watter van die
voormelde plante sou daar groei?
(10) C lê wes van B; B lê wes van A. Lê A nou noord, suid, oos of
wes van C?
Of die voorgaande toetse, wat, tussen hakies gesê, almal dié van
Burt is, afdoende is om die intellek van ’n kind van elf jaar te bepaal,
laat ek aan die gesonde verstand van die leser oor. Ek wil in die
meriete van die saak nie juis ingaan nie. Persoonlik egter is ek die
mening toegedaan dat sulke vrae op hulself nie baie opvoedkundige
waarde besit nie, en glad nie daarop berekend is om uit te vind wie
die slimste kind in die klas is nie, nog minder help om juis die
elfjarige leerling se verstand te bepaal nie. Ek het dan ook al gesien
dat ’n hele paar seuns van nege jaar die elfjarige toetse baie beter
gedoen het as dié wat vir kinders van hulle eie leeftyd bedoel was.
Die uitdrukking op die voorsitter se gesig toe hy die verskillende
kaartjies in die hand neem en deurkyk, was die moeite werd om te
sien. Ek kon my moeilik bedwing. Maar toe hy hoor dat sy Jannie
skaars drie uit die tien toetse reg beantwoord het volgens dr. Fohl se
vereistes, was die gort gaar.
„Mag ek sien wat Jannie oor jou verspotte vrae te sê het?” vra hy
verstoord aan die geleerde dokter.
„Seker,” was die antwoord, „dan sal u miskien meteen ’n besef kry
van u eie kapasiteit.”
„Wat meen die vent?” vra die voorsitter, en ek kon sien dat sy oë
blits.
Hier tree ek tussenbei.
„Wag laat ons sien hoe Jannie die vrae beantwoord het,” val ek
hulle in die rede. „Ek sal een vir een vraag en antwoord aflees, en
dan kan die dokter sê of hy dit goed- of afkeur.”
Met hierdie suggestie was almal tevrede, en toe begin ek af te
lees:
Vraag: (1) Jan val van sy fiets af en is bewusteloos. Hy stap na die
dokter vir hulp. Wat is hiermee verkeerd?
Antwoord van Jannie: Die een wat dit vertel het, lieg dat hy so
bars.
Vraag: (2) Eendag het die poliesie die lyk van ’n arme kind by die
spruit gekry. Die liggaam was in 18 stukke opgesny. Die
hoofkonstabel reken dat die kind selfmoord gepleeg het. Is dit
moontlik?
 Antwoord van Jannie: ’n Poliesman wat so onnosel is, behoort uit
die diens ontslaan te word. „Hoor! Hoor!” uit die mond van die
kommissielede.
Vraag: (3) Ek het drie broers: Jan, Piet en ek. Sou jy dit netso
gesê het?
Antwoord van Jannie: Natuurlik nie. Wie tel homself dan as ’n
broer?
Vraag: (4) Gister het daar ’n treinongeluk gebeur en vyftig mense
het verongeluk. Die koerante sê dis gelukkig nie so danig erg nie. Is
die koerante reg?
Antwoord van Jannie: Dit hang alles daarvan af wie in die trein
was. As dit kaffers of koelies of onderwysers was, dan is die
koerante reg, anders is hulle verkeerd.
Vraag: (5) As iemand jou opienie vra oor ’n seun of dogter wat jy
nie goed ken nie, wat sou jy antwoord?
Antwoord van Jannie: Ek is nie so slim soos dr. Fohl nie, wat ’n
hele boel kinders kom beoordeel wat hy vandag vir die eerste keer
sien.
Vraag: (6) Veronderstel dat jy iets moet onderneem wat baie
belangrik is, wat sou jy heel eerste doen?
Antwoord van Jannie: Ek sou my pa eers raadpleeg. „Hoor! hoor!”
van die voorsitter, en in sy hele houding is vaderlike trots te lees.
Vraag: (7) Waarom moet ’n mens iemand oordeel by wat hy doen
en nie by wat hy sê hy sal doen nie?
Antwoord van Jannie: Omdat jy anders maklik gekul sal raak.
Vraag: (8) In julle skool speel een-derde van die kinders voetbal
en een-derde speel krieket. Is daar nou kinders wat nòg die een nòg
die ander speel? Is daar kinders wat albei speel?
Antwoord van Jannie: Ek weet nie. Ons speel net voetbal en
albaster, en die meisies spring toutjie of speel hasie.
 Vraag: (9) Aalwyn en rubber groei in warm landstreke. Gras en
heiblommetjies groei in koue landstreke. Heiblomme en rubber wil
klam grond hê; gras en aalwyn wil nie alte baie nattigheid hê nie. By
die Amasonerivier is dit baie warm en baie nat. Watter van die
voormelde plante sou daar groei?
Antwoord van Jannie: Rubber, maar daar sal wel gras en onkruid
ook groei.
Vraag: (10) C lê wes van B; B lê wes van A. Lê A nou noord, suid,
wes of oos van C?
Antwoord van Jannie: Oos.
„Wat sê u, Dokter, het die seun net drie antwoorde reg?” vra
Jannie se trotse vader.
„Ja,” brom dr. Fohl, „en sy intellek is dié van ’n sesjarige seun. Hy
aard waarskynlik na sy vader.”
Hier moes ek opnuut die vrede herstel.
„Sal ons nie liewers nou maar ry nie, Dokter?” vra ek. „Dit word
laat en u kan vanaand die resultate op u gemak uitwerk, en dan
môre vir my laat weet hoe dit met die delwerskinders se
verstandsvermoë gesteld is.”
„Dis nie eers nodig om dit uit te werk nie,” antwoord dr. Fohl. „Daar
is byna g’n enkel kind in hierdie skool wat normaal is nie. Feitlik
almal is onder normaal.”
„Maar as dit werklik die geval is, dan is u toetse onbevredigend.
Ek laat my nog nooit vertel dat onder honderd en tien kinders daar
skaars ’n dosyn volgens u berekening normaal is nie! U moet vir die
delweryskole ’n stel toetse optrek wat rekening hou met hierdie soort
kind se omgewing, ontwikkeling, ondervinding en huislike
omstandighede. Die resultate bewys dat u intelligensie-toetse nie
doelmatig is nie!”
Dog die dokter wou my kant van die saak maar nie insien nie.
Ons was dan ook al so goed as in die moter, toe die voorsitter, wat
vir die laaste paar minute in druk gesprek was met ’n paar lede van
die skoolkommissie, vorentoe tree.
„Mag ek die dokter vra of hy gewillig is om homself te onderwerp
aan seker toetse wat ons hom sal stel? Ons wil graag sien of sy
groot intellek meetbaar is. Dis nie aldag wat ons sulke geleerde
manne in ons midde kry nie.”
As ek in die dokter se plek was, dan sou ek hartlik vir die
eksamentjie bedank het, maar ek het verwag dat hy hom die toetse
sou laat welgeval. Was die kêrel ’n bietjie minder verwaand gewees
en het hy die delwer beter geken, dan sou hy die versoek geweier
het, maar nou loop hy in die val netsoos beer by jakkals.
„Seker, alte seker, oubaas,” sê hy, „maar maak net gou, want ons
is haastig.”
„Ek sal nie lank draai nie, Dokter. En as jy die volgende vrae tot
ons bevrediging beantwoord, dan is jy werklik so slim soos jy dink
dat jy is.”
Vraag (1): Hoe moet gravel lyk om ’n goeie was te gee?
Vraag (2): Hoe sal jy uitvind of jou masien diamonds weggooi?
Vraag (3): Hoe moet die porrel lyk?
Vraag (4): Wat is meer werd: ’n bruin diamond of ’n swarte?
Vraag (5): Hulle beweer dat die diamonds hier spoeldiamonds is.
As dit so is, hoe kom hulle hier tussen die gravel op die bult?
Op versoek van die voorsitter het ek die vrae afgeskrywe en die
papier toe aan dr. Fohl oorhandig.
„Kyk,” gaan die voorsitter verder, „jy kry twee minute om ’n vraag
te beantwoord.”
„Maar is jy ernstig?” vra dr. Fohl half-verleë:
„Dood-ernstig,” herneem die voorsitter.
„Maar wat weet ek van gravel en porrel en wat dies meer sy af; ek
is mos nie ’n delwer nie,” vervolg dr. Fohl.
„Nou ja, maar sê dan reguit of jy die vrae kan beantwoord of nie!”
gaan die voorsitter voort.
 „Ek kan nie,” beken dr. Fohl.
„Maar Jannie van my kan wel,” sê die voorsitter. „Volgens jou
uitspraak is sy intellek dié van ’n kind van ses. Nou ja, dr. Fohl,
volgens my oordeel en dié van my kommissie is jou verstand dié van
’n kind onder ses, en ek sou aan die hand gee dat jy eers ’n tydjie op
die delwerye kom deurbring voordat jy dit waag om weer toetse vir
ons kinders te kom stel.”
Na hierdie woorde draai hy sy rug op die dokter, gee my sy hand
en vertrek met die lede van sy skoolkommissie.
Op pad huis-toe wou ek weet of ons die ander-dag met die
intelligensie-toetse sou voortgaan, maar dr. Fohl het my ’n antwoord
skuldig gebly.
Dieselfde aand is hy met die tienuur-trein weg R.-toe.
 „GETREP.”
Daar gaan baie oneerlikheid aan op die delwerye, en etlike
delwers vergaan van ellende omdat die diamante wat op hulle kleims
gekry word, in die besit kom van gewetelose persone wat maar alte
gereed is om op onwettige wyse hierdie kosbare steentjies van
kaffers te koop. En dis nie so danig maklik om die kaffer of die
onwettige koper te vang nie. Hulle is uiters geslepe en slimmer as
die houtjie aan die galg.
Om ’n halfdosyn of meer kaffers wat onder in ’n kleim werk, dop te
hou om te voorkom dat hulle stilletjies ’n diamant oppik, is nie
kinderspeletjies nie. Persoonlik wou ek nooit glo dat ’n kaffer my so
onder my oë sou fop nie, en het dan ook hierdie mening aan meer
as een delwer vry uitgespreek.
„Nou goed,” sê ’n ou delwer eendag aan my, „kom saam na my
kleim toe, en dan sal u self kan oordeel of ons delwers die kaffer se
gladheid om ’n diamant te steel oordrywe het.”
Ek het sy aanbod gewillig aanvaar, en net vir gou staan ons by sy
kleim waarin sowat sewe kaffers besig was om gruis los te kap.
„Swartbooi,” sê my vriend (wat onder die delwers bekend gestaan
het as Koos Blikkies) aan sy mandoor onder die skepsels, „hierdie
baas wil nie vir my glo as ek hom vertel dat julle kaffers ’n diamant
onder sy neus sal wegsteel sonder dat hy dit sal bemerk nie. Nou wil
ek net vir hom wys hoe maklik julle dit kan doen.”
„Goed, my baas,” antwoord Swartbooi. „Gooi maar daardie ses-
carat wat ons gister gekry het, hier in die kleim voor my neer. Laat
hierdie baas dan al die tyd vir my in die gate hou, en as die steentjie
wegraak, dan moet die baas hom maar betaal. Hy is mos so seker
van sy saak.”
„Ek is heeltemal tevrede,” sê ek, „maar as ek vir Swartbooi betrap
dat hy die diamant vat, dan kry hy ses houe met hierdie
handsambok.”
Swartbooi gee so ’n lang pruimspuug, en terwyl al sy van die twak
geelgekleurde tande wys, sê hy laggend: „Allright!”
My selfvertroue het my nou ’n bietjie begewe, want ’n kaffer
beklink nie somar gou so ’n kontrak nie, of hy moet absoluut seker
wees van sy saak. Maar die feit dat ek net die één skepsel, wat g’n
drie tree van my af gruis kap nie, moes dophou, het my soveel
vertroue in myself gegee dat ek my pyp stop en op my gemak gaan
sit en rook het op die kant van die kleim.
„Nou toe,” voeg ek Koos Blikkies toe, „plaas nou maar die diamant
net waar jy wil, solank as ek net die steentjie kan sien, en as
Swartbooi hom wegvat sonder dat ek hom betrap, dan eet ek nog
my hoed op die koop toe ook op.”
Koos Blikkies het die diamant onder in die kleim neergesit, omtrent
twee tree van my en sowat ’n tree van Swartbooi af, en toe vir my
gewaarsku om baie oplettend te wees. Hy sou my ’n halfuur tyd gee;
as die diamant dan nog daar was, of as ek die kaffer gevang het,
dan het ek gewen. Met ’n laaste vermaning aan my om die skepsel
dubbel goed dop te hou, het hy vertrek.
Binne ’n kwartier het die diamant spoorloos verdwyn. Ek kon
sweer dat ek vir g’n enkel oomblik my oë van die klippie af
weggeneem het nie, en tog ... dit was weg! Onder die stof kon dit nie
wees nie, want dit het onder op die harde bodem gelê en die volk het
aan die ander kant van die kleim gewerk, en dan? ek het die ding
nog so flussies daar gesien.
Ek vrywe my oë en kyk weer.
„Waar is die diamant, Swartbooi?” vra ek.
„Ek weet nie; die baas hy het hom mos opgepas,” antwoord die
skepsel, en om sy mond sweef daar ’n trek van diepe minagting vir
my oplettendheid.
„Maar wat het dan van die ding geword?” vra ek weer, en in my
verbeelding sien ek reeds hoe ek £150 vir Koos Blikkies moet betaal,
en geld was in daardie dae nie juis alte volop by my nie.