Zeroth Directive

Archive II

By Minoan standards, Xanthos is quite reserved—stiff even. We know that Minoans love drama, as citizen-organized performances are a frequent sight on the streets of Athenius, and Minoan villages often jointly hold small drama festivals during agricultural off-seasons. Xanthos, however, seems to have little interest in it. It is not that he does not know the stories of the heroes—he responds to citations of the legends in conversations—but his own words are always brief and succinct, never quoting proverbs or fables. His upbringing may have something to do with it: Xanthos was raised in a small village in southern Minos, near the border with Sargon. Life was hard even without Sargonian raids. His father died when he was very young, and he inherited his father's work as ferryman. He spent most of his time on the river, and his emotions flowed like the river, never rising or falling by too much. But the river was also fickle, and he had to be vigilant at all times, never letting his guard down. His taciturn and cautious manner is the result of such a life. This is not to imply that he has no hobbies: he has told us that reading poetry was his way of relaxing in those rare moments of leisure. The reasoning was that poems are relatively short, and do not make you forget the time or to monitor the condition of the river. Xanthos showed some interest when I invited him to join our Poetry Club, but began to hesitate upon learning that we get together and recite poems in front of other club members, apparently not used to group activities. My praise of his speech at the First Temple of Athenius seemed to have the opposite effect, as he looked visibly uncomfortable, though I was eventually able to convince him to come. That night, we read poems that we wrote ourselves, and engaged in some impromptu group poetry. Someone brought wine, which I had reservations about, though I must admit that good wine can indeed do wonders for the atmosphere. Once we got a little tipsy, we began to sing while someone played accompaniment, ending on a high note with the climax of the Kerespereia. Xanthos sat in a corner throughout, listening quietly and touching none of the wine (most admirably!), looking somewhat out of place. He continued to attend the meetings, sitting quietly in a corner as he did the first time, saying little except nodding on occasion upon hearing a particularly well-crafted verse. He seems to prefer sentimental odes to narrative epics, and takes a particular liking to the works of a certain female poet from Antisa. It seems that his appearance belies a much more delicate nature. —Erato, in Rhodes Island Poetry Club Report

Archive III

The training of a priest is a serious matter in Minos. Children found to have the proper aptitude are sent to the temples to receive education and training at the age of ten, studying with a dozen other children of the same age. They are responsible for everyday cleaning and maintenance, while also studying the classics and learning about the heroes and their associated rituals. They also have to study scientific knowledge associated with the temple, as well as accumulate management and administrative experience, all in preparation for a career in the priesthood. The process can take more than a decade, until trainees pass their exams to become full-fledged acolytes. The priests of Minos are therefore among its most talented and educated people. When we learned that Xanthos's apprentice in Athenius was a former trainee acolyte, we began to wonder—did this mean Xanthos possessed knowledge that rivaled the temples? There was, of course, an element of self-interest in our curiosity: there are patients of every age group at Rhodes Island, including young children who had to abandon their education because of their condition, and we wanted to give them an opportunity to continue learning. Xanthos seemed to smile wryly behind his mask. 'Lykeion knew much more than I do, in terms of professional knowledge. I dealt with issues that occurred on the river through experience and instinct, accumulated through observation and memorization, while he understood the principles behind them, and could draw on such knowledge to understand things that he had never seen before. It was practical experience that he lacked... but the real reason I took him in as an apprentice was that he needed a reason to keep living after I saved... after he contracted Oripathy. I didn't need a caregiver or companion, but he needed something to fill his life, in order to find the strength to keep going. I'm glad that he's found a new goal.' Xanthos was humble and did not immediately agree to take on apprentices at Rhodes Island, but we have noticed that he has a way with children, guiding them to fulfill their potential while showing remarkable patience. He tells stories of heroes to crying young patients, competes with Popukar to see who can cut planks faster using a chainsaw (and his oar), and steers Bubble and Ceobe to keep the corridor clear when they are playing in the hallways. Perhaps it comes from his experience observing the river—'one can only sail far and easy by going with the flow,' in his own words—or perhaps he is simply a natural educator.

Archive IV

You want to know about my life in the marshes? It wasn't like what you might find in pastoral poems. Ferrying in the marshes was not like ferrying in Athenius. It was not a simple matter of going from one side of the river to the other. Our village was surrounded by the river. Essentially, we lived in the river. The river was the most important part of life in the marshes; master the river, and you master the marshes. It was formed from rainfall and meltwater from the peaks of Mt. Hymnoi. Spring was the season for planting and irrigation, as the snow began to melt and rainfall declined. I ferried people back and forth between the village and nearby small plots of farmland, separated by the river, while keeping an eye on the snowline in the distant mountains, looking out for sudden floods. Summer was when meltwater was at its highest, the busiest season for irrigation. People guided water into the fields, and harvested young reeds which were used for weaving. Autumn was the season of harvest, with increased rainfall and reduced meltwater. The crops in the fields had to be harvested quickly, and reeds that had grown hard harvested for reserves. The river was calm in winter—villagers used harvested reeds to make handicrafts, and repaired farm tools and houses, while I ferried people between our village and neighboring villages. Reeds were a frequent sight on the river, growing along the river and marshes, forming narrow passages that only those who knew the river well could navigate successfully. Only those few could ferry the others to where fins and fowlbeasts were in abundance. Reeds were versatile materials that could be woven into baskets, mats, even houses and their foundations. We used reeds to mark out areas in the river, and filled them with reed stalks to make floating plates on which we built our homes. It may seem primitive to people used to the nomadic cities, but it was flexible and adaptable to any changes in the river. When Ithakos came, he taught us how to connect these reed plates to create large public areas, upon which we built a little temple and lit a fire that belonged to us... Life was hard, and far from affluent, but it holds a special place in my heart, not only because of the memories of home and my deceased friends and relatives, but also because it was a life that was within my grasp. All I needed to do every day was to understand the river beneath me. The river has since dried up, but it continues to flow in my heart. Having lost sight of my own heart from loss, I'm trying to understand it now, trying to tame it. Perhaps this will allow me to once again grasp my own life.

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