The elven apprentice watches the human calligrapher as she bends over the table, her hair tied back in golden braids in the manner of her northern tribes, mechanical quill in hand that she guides across the vellum parchment. Her gaze is fixed on the nib, which makes a soft rustling sound as it rubs against the page and deposits the glistening ink. When she finishes, she hovers over the manuscript, unblinking, her lips moving as if chanting a spell.
“Good evening, sister,” says the apprentice.
She blinks as if awakening from a dream and sits up with her back straight.
“Brother, forgive me,” she says in a sonorous accented voice, “I did not hear you arrive.”
She stands up, puts her palms together, and bows. The sunlight beams entering through the window throw delicate shadows on her face.
Likewise, he places both hands together and bows in return.
“How goes the project?” He inquires.
For a moment, she's taken aback by his straightforwardness, but then she remembers he's an elf.
“It is ready," she answers. "Come see for yourself.”
She stands up and pulls the chair aside to clear up the space. Moving back three steps, as is tradition, she invites him to approach.
He does so, but then stops and takes a deep breath. Briefly, his eyes grow soft as he inhales a deep and floral aroma that lingers in the air. It is the aroma of mountain meadows.
He gathers himself and approaches the table, where the restored manuscript is laid out on top.
His eyes widen a little when his gaze falls upon the parchment.
The Illumination of Sithia is one of the most sacred scenes in the Scriptures of the Moonlight. The phrase ‘JOA is the Light of Love’ is painted in the old tongue with decorative motifs along with verses written in common from the Song of the Spheres.
“Sister!” he says breathlessly, “you have outdone yourself. Such detail with brilliant colours and divine forms. Simply magnificent!”
“It is not just my work, brother. It is our work. Without your inspired guidance, it would not have been possible. So, I consider it a collaboration between us.”
She takes a single step forward.
In spite of the breach in custom, the apprentice remains still, looking at the illustrated parchment and admiring every exquisite detail, including the sublime faces, rich with solemnity and filled with the holy light of dawning illumination.
“If I may,” says the calligrapher, taking two steps forward and closing the gap between them.
She takes the manuscript with delicate hand and lifts it up to the sunlight filtering through the window. She shakes it gently, and where the words bend, the ink glistens in shimmering colours.
The apprentice laughs and clasps his hands. His elongated ears wiggle with pleasure.
“Oh sister! That is the most delightful effect.”
His robes gently brush against her bare hand.
“Isn’t it wonderful, brother?” She says giving him a sideway glance. “It’s all about the right combination of pen, ink, and parchment. The ink reacts to different kinds of light, even moonlight.”
“Incredible! You, northern calligraphers are very clever and bring life to the heavenly host,” he says, turning to face her. “The High Council will be pleased with your art and industry.”
He brings his hands together and bows.
The calligrapher is surprised at the gesture. The elves view humans as lesser beings and thus never initiate a bow. She quickly puts her hands together and clumsily bows a little too deeply, bringing her face close to his.
“It has been a blessing assisting you, brother,” she whispers.
For a little while that seems an eternity, they remain suspended in an air with the aroma of aged vellum, ink, and perfume.
In his tower, the apprentice is ready to retire for the night. He performs ablutions and prayers.
As he stands by the window, he sees the manuscript laid out across his desk.
It reminds him of the calligrapher, and her golden braids.
He takes the parchment and spreads it out beneath the moonlight.
The illustration shimmers and dances in colours in a most unnatural way. As he shakes the parchment, he see the moonbeams illuminate certain letters. The effect is almost imperceptible unless one has been told… or subtly given a hint.
Where the word “JOA” has been written, the moonlight beams now reveal three additional letters, which had remained hitherto hidden under natural light.
NNA.
JOA NNA.
The apprentice shakes his head and smiles seeing the spelled out word. The gall of that human girl. There is no question about it. They are clever rascals those calligraphers and always like to have the last word.
He clears his throat, and with his eyes on the moonlit verses, he begins to sing the Song of the Spheres.
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