"I’ll be the moving statue."
Richard frowned.
"Your circuit..."
"It’s broken, sure." Coleman raised his right hand and clenched it into a fist.
"My circuit’s broken, but my body isn’t. I can dodge, and I can take it.
With the kind of force you’re using now, even if you really hit me, I’ll be fine after a few days of rest."
He lowered his hand.
"Besides, aren’t you Scholars best at ’Analysis’?
When you become a real big shot in the future, maybe you’ll find a way to fix what’s wrong with me."
Despite this, Richard asked the most crucial question.
"Does your family approve?"
Coleman didn’t answer about his "family," changing the subject instead.
"My family has a small house on the west side of town with a big backyard. Plenty of room to move around.
The walls were built by my grandfather’s generation. They’re a size thicker than most."
As he spoke, Coleman’s mood turned somber.
"Back in his generation, the family still relied on this craft to make a living. Later..."
Richard didn’t press him further.
"Alright," Richard agreed. "Saturday afternoon. Write down the address for me."
Coleman fished a pencil stub and a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He pressed it against the gymnasium’s brick wall, wrote down an address, tore it off, and handed it over.
Richard took it, glanced at it, and committed the address to memory.
"See you Saturday, then," Coleman said, turning and walking back toward the gymnasium.
He hadn’t had enough of a workout yet.
Richard, on the other hand, turned and walked toward the academic building.
When he entered the office this time, Mr. Hutton had already laid everything out on the desk again.
In the center were two copies: one that Mr. Hutton had transcribed himself, and the other, the rough draft Richard had sketched on the train during winter break.
The section with the true name on both copies was obscured by a waxy-black Seal line.
"You take the lead on this," Mr. Hutton said, sitting down at the other end of the desk. "I’ll be here to correct your course."
Richard flipped his notebook to a new page.
Richard recognized the four formulaic lines at the very top.
"With oak as bone."
"With mist as garment."
"With blood as pact."
"With water as answer."
"These four lines are the ’Four Pillars’ structure of a Celtic ritual."
Mr. Hutton drew a cross on the edge of the draft paper.
"The oak corresponds to the skeleton, the physical vessel for the object of the ritual."
"The mist corresponds to the skin, the form of the ritual’s object on this side of the Curtain."
"The blood corresponds to the contract, the medium through which an agreement is reached between the priest and the object of the ritual."
"The water corresponds to the response, the medium through which the object of the ritual gives its reply from the other side of the Curtain."
"Only when all Four Pillars are present is the entire ritual structure complete."
Richard took notes in his own notebook as he listened.
After the formulaic lines, the next part to be deciphered was the first step of the ritual—choosing the bone.
This section took up an entire column on the Sheepskin Scroll, with a corresponding description on the back of the Bronze Plate.
By comparing the two samples, Richard could roughly piece together the general outline of the section.
But when it came to the details, he was stumped by a set of recurring symbols.
"Sir."
"Hm?"
"This set of symbols," Richard said, tapping his fingertip on the draft paper. "It appears seven times on the Sheepskin Scroll and five times on the Bronze Plate."
"Mm-hm."
"Every time it appears, the meaning of the surrounding sentences is slightly different."
Mr. Hutton came over to take a look.
"How are you reading it?"
"I’m reading it as ’to select,’ but the object of the ’selection’ is different each time."
"Keep reading."
Richard buried his head in the work again.
As he deciphered the sixth instance, he suddenly stopped writing.
"...It’s not ’to select’."
"Hm?"
"It’s ’to claim’."
Behind him, Mr. Hutton was very pleased.
"You’re doing this much faster than I did back in my day."
"A month before the ritual begins, the Celtic Priest would enter the forest and choose an oak tree to serve as the skeletal vessel for the ceremony."
Richard explained as he wrote:
"After ’claiming’ it, from that day forward, that specific oak tree is designated as part of the ritual."
"Mm-hm."
"The criteria for selecting the oak tree are in the next section."
Richard continued deciphering.
The next column was easier to decipher than the last; the symbol structure was standard, with almost no variations.
"The tree must be no less than a hundred years old."
"Its trunk must bear no scars from any creature’s struggles."
"Within thirty feet of the tree’s base, there can be no signs of ant nests or the activity of other highly social insects."
"When the soil beneath its roots is dug up, it must seep out a vapor with an earthy, foul smell."
After copying down these four rules, Richard paused and looked at his Guide.
"The last one... is that a sign of a water vein?"
"Yes." Mr. Hutton nodded. "If there’s a water vein within three feet of the surface, the soil will exude moisture when disturbed.
The Celtic Priests believed that only an oak connected to a water vein below could ’hear’ the response from the other side of the Curtain."
"How did they know that?"
"Trial and error," Mr. Hutton said casually.
"They tried using oaks without water veins a few times. The rituals failed, and the price of failure was disaster befalling the entire tribe the following year."
Richard was speechless.
"Continue on," Mr. Hutton said, not letting him dwell on that point for too long.
Richard paused on the steps following the selection of the oak, then continued to elaborate.
"This part... I’m reading it as ’to record’."
"Record what?"
"To record death."
Richard put down his pen.
"From the day it is claimed, the oak tree’s own Ether Flow begins to shift toward the purpose of the ritual."
"Its direction shifts from ’growth’ to ’recording’."
"What it must record are all the deaths that occur in this forest over the next month."
Mr. Hutton said nothing beside him.
Richard’s fingers pressed down on the draft paper.
"Every rabbit eaten by a fox."
"Every field mouse snatched by a hawk."
"Every fledgling that starved to death in its nest."
"The deaths of the entire forest are recorded by this ’claimed’ oak tree."
"The recorded deaths constitute the ’capacity’ of the oak as the ’skeleton’."
"On the day the ritual begins, the oak is opened to serve as the fulcrum for the entire ceremony."
A chill ran down Richard’s spine as he considered the implications.
"...These rituals are so intricately linked. It’s hard to imagine how they figured all this out through trial and error, given the environment and conditions of that time."
Mr. Hutton drew a comparison.
"When we perform a Seal today, we need a blessed Silver Belt, salt, Rice Wine, and rosemary. The material cost for the whole procedure is measured in pounds."
"The Celtic Priests didn’t need any externally sourced materials."
"They used the death of an entire forest as the material basis for their ritual."
"On the morning of the ritual."
"...A thick smoke forms a layer of mist within the ritual grounds.
The density of the mist is controlled by two Assistant Priests using two large, fan-shaped pieces of tree bark. They fan to disperse the smoke and press down to make it gather."
"Mm-hm."
"They have to keep the mist’s concentration within a specific range?"
"Correct." Mr. Hutton nodded. "If it’s too thin, it can’t support the subsequent Curse Spell. If it’s too thick, the High Priest will get lost inside it."
Richard’s pen continued moving down the page.
"Part two, ’weaving the garment.’ After the mist has formed, the High Priest begins to walk."
"With each circle he walks, he scatters a handful of crushed herbal powder."
Richard focused his Spiritual Vision on that set of symbols.
Mr. Hutton added from the side.
"That’s the Celts’ ’Mist Orchid’."
"Mist Orchid?"
"It’s another plant that grows in Ether-polluted areas, but it’s much rarer than Ashen Grass."
"They say there are still a few wild colonies in the northern Gael Highlands, but aside from people of Professor Macphie’s generation, no one can say for sure where."
Richard noted this down.
Mr. Hutton continued to explain.
"Once the Mist Orchid powder is scattered into the mist, the nature of the mist changes."
"This misty garment will gradually be ’woven’ into a shape by the High Priest’s Curse Spell."
"That is the form of the ritual’s object on this side of the Curtain."
Richard’s pen stopped on the draft paper.
The skeleton was assembled, the garment draped over it.
The object of the ritual was being "made," step by step, from the other side of the Curtain.
As Richard deciphered this part, the leaves of the Light Tree inside his chest trembled slightly.
He withdrew his Spiritual Vision and composed himself.
From outside the office came the CLICK of a gas lamp being lit, and one by one, the lights in the corridor turned on, from the far end inward.
The old gentleman looked at his watch.
"That’s enough for today. Go back and properly organize the parts you’ve deciphered and summarized."
Richard folded today’s deciphered draft and placed it in the center of the desk.
Mr. Hutton took another small box from his drawer. The bottom of this box was also lined with salt.
He placed the deciphered draft into the box and closed the lid.
"From now on, we’ll store each day’s draft like this."
"Here with you?"
"Here with me."
Richard nodded.
As he walked out of the office, he heard the sound of a janitor’s broom sweeping at the far end of the corridor.

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