“This one is, we think, from a series of books that described all manner of things and this one is for things that begin with the letter O.” She made a gesture as if to qualify that statement and added, “We think it is. We don’t know for sure. It is just a fragment and much of it makes no sense. There is no context.” She ran a finger along the edge where all the white slips of paper came out and said, “These papers keep apart the pages we were able to separate. The rest are melded together and so far, most pages are destroyed in any attempt to separate them.” She sighed and withdrew her hand, her eyes sad as she looked at the book.
Marina asked, “What is an ocean?”
Greta turned that sad gaze toward her and said, “We don’t speculate, remember?”
“Right, right,” she gestured as if to both surrender to and dismiss the notion of speculating, “but if you did. And based on whatever else you must know from all of this. What is an ocean?”
The older woman examined her, trying to decide the correct approach, but instead of answering she turned and said, “Follow me.”
They wended their way down the long rows until they reached the one Greta apparently sought. She smiled over her shoulder at Marina as she bent to take out a huge flat box from a bottom shelf and laid it with great care on the floor. “Prepare to be amazed.”
She lifted the edge of the box, revealing a picture of some kind. It was in many colors but the lines were so precise and beautifully drawn that it couldn’t have been made by human hands. The paper was big, much bigger than anything she had ever seen even though it had clearly been torn apart, making Marina wonder how much more of this there was. It was mounted with on a larger piece of cardboard. Marina had no idea what it was and looked at Greta, her confusion showing on her face.
Greta knelt next to her and pointed with her gloved finger toward a single spot, a dark mark of green, on the large outline. She said, “That is us. Supposedly.”
Marina looked again and then fell back onto her rump when she realized what she was seeing. It was land. And the blue off to the edge had words in it. The words were Atlantic Ocean. She took in the scope of it compared with the land and then with the tiny pinprick that was their silo and felt the world around her spin. Her head felt filled with cotton and it was Greta’s alarmed voice that kept her from fainting. She felt Greta grab her arm and the sensation retreated almost as fast as it came on. She said, “I’m okay.”
“Sure you are,” Greta replied with a hint of amusement in her voice, “if fainting is considered okay. Just breathe and get yourself together. Do you need a medic?”
Marina took an inventory of her body but didn’t think she felt anything seriously wrong other than finding out the world is much more than you thought it was. She shook her head. When she felt herself again she got up on her haunches and looked at the picture again. Greta warned her not to faint and fall into the map since it was the only one they had and Marina gave her a look.
“Why wouldn’t you let something like this be known to everyone? This is certain, right?”
Greta sighed and gazed down at the map. She said, “Only if you consider a single unsupported partial picture that isn’t mentioned in any other artifact and which, I might add, we have no way of knowing wasn’t drawn from someone’s imagination.”
“Oh,” Marina said and frowned. “But the book. It mentions oceans and here is an ocean right here.” She pointed to the Atlantic Ocean again. “That seems like support.”
“Not really. We have no idea if this might have been made by someone who read those books or for another reason. Just because something is old doesn’t make it the truth.”
“Well then, how did you know that this spot was us?” Marina asked.
“Because it says so. Look closer.”
Marina leaned over and peered at the tiny words next to the green spot. Sure enough, it read ‘Silo Field’. She grunted and said, “That seems like evidence.”
Greta sighed again and reached out to close the lid of the box as she said, “Not really. Not when you consider the entirety of the question and the rules for historical evidence. We don’t speculate. Our job is to provide truth to posterity. This,” she gestured to the box, “is not evidence. It is merely another question that we can add to the list that grows every day.”
The two women slid the box back into the slender opening for it and stood. Marina sensed that Greta had something to say so she stood, trying to give the impression of patience and openness.
It worked because Greta finally turned to her, slipping her gloves into her pocket as she did and said, “I like to imagine what it might mean, though.”
Marina thought she sounded a little guilty, as if sharing that was a confession to some wrongdoing. She considered her answer carefully.
“Greta, if you never formulate a question then you can never find an answer. Is that not correct?”
The other woman nodded.
“Well, perhaps I’m just a simple Fabber, but it seems to me that the only way to come up with a good question is to do a whole lot of wondering and imagining.”
Greta smiled, a genuine smile this time, and said, “You really should have been a Historian, you know.”
Chapter Twelve
After their tour of the shelves in that room, they went further in to a place called the Deep Archives where items that hadn’t been examined in generations were kept. Marina was amazed that anyone could resist going through every single holding of the entire Memoriam and said so. Greta explained that it was hard enough to keep up with ensuring that current history got recorded properly and attending to the myriad other duties that Historians had. If they wanted a constant and current knowledge of the archives, they would need more Historians. Since they couldn’t do that, the archives were less examined than perhaps they should be. She admitted that she wished she could spend more time doing just that.
“Why don’t you?” asked Marina. “I mean, you have more shadows than you can cast for. Why not get them to take on more duties or get more shadows to go through the archives. Something!”
Greta smiled but it was regretful. “We can’t do that. Our numbers are strictly controlled for a reason. How many electricians or farmers would you give up to have someone to go through old boxes?”
The question was rhetorical so Marina just made a face and that made Greta laugh. “Okay, so asking you that question may not get the same answer as from someone else. But there’s more to it than that. No shadow can come into the archives unsupervised and never into the deep archives. With so many shadows not completing their shadowing it would be an unforgivable breech.”
“But they could do other things so you all could come in here,” Marina protested.
“And how well can a Caster cast when their shadow is not with them?”
The question was a reasonable one and Marina was not in favor of the practice of letting shadows do work they weren’t ready for. It happened sometimes but it usually didn’t speak well for the Caster. “Okay, I’ll give you that. But there must be a way.”
“You’re speaking like an overeager shadow yourself now.” She stopped and turned to Marina, a hand on her shoulder to ensure her attention was with her before continuing. “We have a history and it is what we know as truth. Is it perfect? Probably not. But it is what we know and it works.”