main | table of contents The Reflecting Eye Copyright © 2003, S. Y. Affolee 13 The Other Promise At around noon, Verity saved her work on her computer. The voices on the other side of her office wall were getting louder and louder until she could hear occasional distinct words. She had planned to eat lunch in her office while she finished cataloguing the latest pile of reports for the new system, but then again, she didn’t want to hear arguing either. It dangerously made her think of other things, like going into the bathroom and taking off the bandages on her wrists. She took out her bagged lunch from one of her desk drawers and crept out into the main room of the archives. Peeking at the glassed offices, she saw Bob in Quinn’s office. A stack of reports laid ignored on the desk. Instead, the two men were gesturing wildly, faces red. She heard something like, “I can’t believe you slept with my wife,” coming out of Bob’s mouth. They didn’t notice Verity as she fled to the stairwell. Out on the first floor, the reception area was being manned by an older volunteer. Georgette and Patrice had told her the previous day when they had waylaid her on her way to work to tell her about their big plans for Feasting Day. Verity had only nodded as they rambled about decorations and invitations and costumes and problems they were having with the catering service for their party. They had given her an invitation saying they they were throwing the party for maybe about fifty people before the service at the cathedral. Verity had only nodded again when they told her that they were taking the day off to make all the preparations. The institute cafeteria was also on the first floor at the end of the corridor branching the opposite direction of the doctors’ offices. As she headed in that direction, she noticed that an old man was shuffling her. It was Aeneus with his foil-lined gown. “Lunch?” Aeneus inquired. “Aren’t you going to eat that in your office?” “It’s a bit distracting there at the moment.” “Eh? Why’s that?” “Quinn and Bob are arguing about personal matters.” “Figures,” the old man grumbled. “Everything’s personal.” “Have you had lunch yet?” asked Verity. “I was heading to the cafeteria myself. I just show them my patient card and I get my meals.” He pulled out an identification card he pulled out of his gown. It looked a lot like the white identification card Verity had which was for employees. Aeneus’s card, however, was green. The cafeteria itself was a long sterile room painted in a soothing peach. The tables and chairs were ordered in a neat grid array. From the line at the cafeteria, Aeneus ordered what the staff was serving for the day: rice, mild curry, a couple pieces of broccoli, and a banana. “Aunat save us,” the old man complained as they sat at one of the side tables. “They should hire a new cook.” Verity took out her own sandwich. “You’re right although I’m not sure a new cook will really solve that problem. Hospital food isn’t the greatest.” Aeneus took a few bites of his rice and curry before gulping down some juice. “This may feed the body, but not the soul. I’m looking forward to Fasting Day when the chaplain comes down and gives us a sermon about Aunat’s Promise. It gets me through those depressing Unnamed Days.” “You said before that you were going to tell me what you know.” The old man squinted at her, then over her shoulder. The cafeteria was remarkably empty except for a cafeteria worker wiping down the counter and a fat bewhiskered custodian reading a newspaper during his break. They were both on the other side of the room. “I guess it’s all right to say it at the moment,” Aeneus concluded. “Things this year has been stranger than usual. I hate to say this, but this year’s end lull is going to be quite, how shall we say, treacherous. I’m going to keep myself in my room on the Unnamed Days. I’ve accumulated enough foil to wallpaper my room. They’re not going to get me.” “Oh,” said Verity, finding herself somewhat speechless. “What some people don’t realize,” the old man continued, “is that there is another part of Aunat’s Promise or whoever’s Promise depending in which city you are in and in what incarnation the unnamed one decides to take. The point is, this unsaid and unstudied part of the promise warns us that the Unnamed Days are extremely dangerous. It is when Aunat is not even here. Only with the new year is the unnamed one resurrected to protect us from whatever it is that is out there.” “I just thought it was superstition that the Unnamed Days were bad luck and that the fact that we get a break from work at the end of the year is just a holdover from the superstitious past.” “Oh no.” His voice lowered to a whisper. Verity had to lean in slightly to hear him. His eyes glittered in determination. “Of course, the stories about Aunat’s resurrection is contrived. The fact, in the unsaid part of the Promise, is that Aunat is in hiding. There are other things out there—things that are even more powerful than the unnamed one.” “How come I’ve never heard of this particular story before?” “You’re not a native,” said Aeneus patiently. “And not every city is as weak as Monteport.” “Weak?” “Monteport and perhaps in a few other places in the world are only thin barriers connecting here from there. When the time is right and if other forces are in alignment, those barriers can be broken. There will be here and others will be able to reach into here.” “What others?” “It’s not right or normal or even safe to discuss what the others are.” “Will you tell me if we were the only ones in the room?” “No, not even then, because even if we were alone, we’re not really alone.” She was puzzled. “You mean because people have bugged your room with recording devices?” “It’s not the recording devices that I’m worried about. But luckily, as I still have hope, that this year’s Unnamed Days will pass as uneventful as all the others, that we will be safe yet for another year.” They finished up their lunch as Aeneus told her about how as a young man, he had been a scholar at Monteport College studying old religious documents. He had been brilliant, he told her with pride. If she bothered to look, he had scores of papers and books published on the subject. It was only when he tried advocating the other side of Aunat’s Promise and been diagnosed with a chronic ailment (“Something about my nervous constitution,” he said dismissively) that his relatives committed him to the Rothburne Institute. “I’ll walk you back to your room,” Verity said as they got up from the lunch table. There were now two cafeteria workers, both of them refilling the trays of food on the counter. A line of five institute workers was at the cash register. The custodian was gone. “That’s very kind of you,” Aeneus said. “A lot better than my ridiculous relatives who never visit or call. Actually, I only have one relative hereabouts. My no good nephew Kenny. He says he’s always busy with his accounting business.” They were about to exit the cafeteria doors when a familiar figure almost collided with them. It was Dr. Miram Greene. “Well, hello.” He was smiling widely, his eyes pinned on Verity. “How are you doing today, Ms. Tage?” “I’m doing fine,” she replied stiffly. “You must be very busy since I’ve only seen the other archivists when I’ve requested the case files.” She said nothing. She had handed all of his requests to either Quinn or Bob with the excuse that she was trying to repair a database bug. “You need a break,” Greene said, oblivious to her silence. “Tell you what, I’ll buy you lunch and you can have a little break.” He was about to put his hand on her elbow to guide her into the cafeteria when Aeneus, who had been ignored, spluttered, “Don’t you dare touch her, you lecher.” “That’s pretty strong words.” Greene frowned at the old man who was pulling out a band of aluminum foil to put it about his forehead as a headband. “What’s your name?” “My name is of no importance,” said Aeneus. “Well then, how about lunch?” “She already had lunch,” the old man said before Verity could reply similarly. “I wasn’t talking to you.” The doctor was tapping his hand along his pocket, visibly annoyed. When he glanced at Verity, he smiled again, perhaps a little too brightly. “Well, if you’re not free for lunch, then how about dinner?” “I already have plans for dinner,” Verity found herself saying. “Well, how about dinner sometime later this week?” “Sorry, doctor, but I’m not available.” “I don’t see a ring,” Greene persisted. “It’s not official yet.” “Who’s the lucky man?” Verity looked at her watch. “I’m sorry doctor,” she said, not even registering what the time was. “But I’m late for a meeting with the other archivists. Database issues and all of that.” She turned tail and escaped out of the cafeteria with Aeneus not far behind. “Whew, that was a close one,” Aeneus remarked. “Even your bad hair didn’t stop him this time. Tell you what, with all the foil I have in reserve, I probably will have some left over after lining my room. You can have it to protect yourself.” “Thanks, Aeneus, but I don’t think foil will do a thing if someone is determined enough.”