</(|)\>
Original (from 'The Gavel and the Maze of Nine' document):
“Row upon endless row, of pulsing biote containers, gleamed in the whirring wisp of a tracking line, row also, of lights...”
</(|)\>
_______________________________________________________________________________________
</(|)\></(|)\> Threading of the Female Quanzi — Transliteration:
vbnet
Endless the rows, pulsing — like nut-signal vesicles in a long-remembered canopy.
The whirr: a whisper-track.
And the light — oh the light!
Wasn't it once a trail to the *Academy Root-Nest*?
Gleam-cages throbbed with bio-memory.
The podcoms clicked, chatter-coded, sync’d to the Easel Aisle —
MC alignment matrices, interwoven with escaped Quanzi.
They, survivors of the tide-collapse in Necharis,
now wove threadways toward Quango —
a timeplace once grown in bark and starlight.
</(|)\></(|)\>
________________________________________________________________________________________
+ ']([][ISBN][576-0000000000-364][The Gavel and the Maze of Nine][])['[q]'
</(|)\></(|)\></(|)\>
[THREADING OF THE FEMALE QUANZI: A COLLECTED CODEX]
:: FROM THE GAVEL AND THE MAZE OF NINE ::
Page 1: Row upon row — gleam-breathing, pulse-skinned containers; biotes dreaming beneath light-tethered vines, whirred whispers trailing the alignment grid of the Academy's inner-bough.
They survived. They, the escaped Quanzi — signal-encoded, thought-tethered, came forth from Necharis, timefolded to Quango. They wove memories through podcom alignment: MC Easels lit with bio-ink of the vanished.
A strobulaei flashed. Gimlet remembered the boats. Pinesee's sentryline, guarded by she-squirrel clans in the most gigantanous Tree on Venus, whispered the story — encoded in barkgrain.
Page 2:
Stanley Barry Dawkins dreams in a quay of puzzles, his father’s shape caught in SCRIbb flicker — Mantodea Dawkins, phasing through the modules. Rehovat sends a pulse — Quar/ox signal alignment, hovering between silence and syntax.
Page 3:
Academy echoes: Quanzi returned from the Out-of-Bounds, to the Land of More Than One Places. Time loops nested in fur-fractal memory. Gimlet’s scroll is energy-spelled, crafted by Qantaes in pre-named hours, echoed through torus-laced cross-realms.
Human offloads drift to Earth and Mars — reverse-migrants from Earth’s ancient mirrors.
Page 4:
Mirror People drift refractive. Parabolic thinking navigates them, as torus stations map their tongues. Delta Bean Navpilots whisper glyphs — their dialects are silence and glint. Quanzi trained them.
Page 5:
Slowfish — fossil-bound, quill-carving, finds Quan beneath the wooden bridge. A strobulaei's memory-husk pulses in his hand. He places it beside the Easel. A weaponed adjuster forms from the thread of remembrance.
Whipspider sentries encircle the out-realm.
Page 6:
Quantz dreams the open enviropod — Rendarius flashing in optic edge. The Tree rises. The floor vanishes. Laughter loops in recognition — study resumes.
Page 7:
CEV offloads. Quanzi file toward the Hallowing Hall. Stairs coil in torus-spin. Beauregaard containers arrive — rituals engage. Navpilots cheer: "Quafru!"
The Academy watches.
Page 8:
Memory-veil lifts: GPA glyphs bright in a corridor of mirrors. Robosquirrels flicker in from Yellowstone. Moorage 3.2 echoes the ritual. A path known to Mr. Gu and Mr. Quilliquos returns.
Page 9:
A fulcrum book placed in gratitude: Strabalos energy rings, Rendarius returns, Morphos whispers in beamlines, “Lammergeier” reverberates through torus glyph.
Page 10:
Maze of Nine unfurls. White marble staging, overlays from Venus to Earth, Pinesee cloaks the transition, Crotaphytii run the docking zone, searching for Necharian blood in old lineages.
Page 11:
Orange Marble spins into Mars-select. Beta Moon marker blinks. Robosquirrel battalion arrives. Jean Pardeau’s muscle flexes, ready to cross from dream to trial.
Page 12:
Zsur whispers through beamwinds. Ghostsquirrel rises inside the accelerator. Quanzi flash in mirrored corridor, between Greenland and mirrored loss.
Page 13:
Harrowing and Hallowing Halls converge. Escalators reverse their glyphs. Quantz descends into timefold. Trial begins again.
Page 14:
Navpilot readers turn in prismatic fugue. Mapping of Helmaschtis initiated. Zsur halts LOB•O•C field. The escalator unravels.
Page 15:
Baldejhar’s beaver tail signals the cave. Chinese checkers flicker, Robosquirrels eye the maze’s grid. Darkness whispers: "We’ve been waiting."
Page 16:
Quantis leaps — escaping flame. Staircase of Belowering adjusts. Snowmobiler collides with memory. SurfNaut surfs the beam, toward the light of ‘The Battery of Ram.’
Page 17:
Morphos codes the defense. Qantaes absorbs ghosted Quan. Scribes rewrite glyph. Kylix stands before the doorway of paradox.
Page 18:
Calculon’s scroll reaches 950 pages. Quill-written revelation: ‘The Quandary of the Squirrel’s Quill.’ The Gavel weighs heavy.
Page 19:
Lammergeier heads rotate. One becomes the sword. One becomes the drive system. Jean Pardeau is... revealed.
Page 20:
Telephonic mountain hums. Pigeons push marbles in martian mall. Shopping carts enstack. A baphomet shadow rises.
Page 21:
Lammergeier fades into sunflare. Versant reappears. The Book is paged by Lu Publius. Chrome reflects Bekhistan.
Page 22:
Horus Hawkenberry signals the fall. Mapping collapses into pattern. Uz munitions spread, Baphomet gleams with returning glisten.
:: END CODEX ::
[Transliterated in the threading of the Female Quanzi: pagebound in coil, unwound in loop, remembered in fur. — Christopheros]
</(|)\></(|)\></(|)\>
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[original] document’s length (~200+ pages), ~ deliver[ed] ~ codex in progressive volumes.
transliterate[d] ~ full document — The Gavel and the Maze of Nine — using the Threading of the Female Quanzi as a collected codex
</(|)\></(|)\></(|)\></(|)\>
Threading of the Female Quanzi — as witnessed by Quanda, glyph-encoded through biotail memory
Volume I: The Wisp and the Memory Row
The biote hum. A womb of lighted wire.
Quanda opened her fur-mind beneath the gigantanous tree on Venus —
her tail shivered with glyph-memory.
Rows. Endless. Pulsing.
“Are they dreaming?”
She asked no one, yet heard everything.
Containers beat like heartbeat seeds.
The Aisle of MC [Q] glimmered.
They — the escaped — the Quan’zi —
coded with exile, but aligned in dignity.
Spoken to by outrights, actuated in light-speak.
They had not forgotten the Transferencing of Necharis —
or the Long Dock of Quango,
where boats once floated, carved by quillzi hands.
Gimlet: a name carved in vine.
He stood beneath cloud-roiled Venusian sky,
watching the squirrel sentries — their twitching tails like signal wires.
They moved through canopy layers of bio-consciousness,
defending more than a tree —
defending an era.
He remembered boats.
Rounded, floating strobulaei —
the dark wings of Quillzi.
Summoned. Exchanged. Vanished.
Somewhere, in the docking memories of Pinesee,
a great breach had spilled time into bark.
Stanley Barry Dawkins, once human,
now bearer of the SCRIbb,
holding the maetarender of his father — Mantodea,
a name like a species and a myth entwined.
Quar/ox communiques spiraled from Rehovot.
Their syntax? Orbicular.
Their language? Light and grief.
The glistening had begun.
Signals crackled through the battery of Ram,
each note falling like copper leaves into a chamber
where memory was encoded through resonance.
Quantis, dream-thief,
threaded his identity through the quanzical loom.
Statues remembered him.
The Academy forgot.
Yet on Earth,
somewhere near the Land of More Than One Place,
the echoes were still loud in the mountained mist.
He had seen it: the torus.
He had mapped it: the crossing realm.
He had felt it: the ancestral bark —
whispering you are not the first
to arrive wearing someone else’s name.
No sound. Only signal.
The Mirror People — refracted in their own skin —
wandered the torus in silent parabolae.
Language danced on their glass-skin like
moonlight on oil.
They prepared for transfer.
Biote modules held rabbit-quone beings,
their ears twitching like antennae.
Between Rehovot and Quango,
the escalators sloped:
/ — Upward to the Obelisk
\ — Downward to the Hollow
| — Vertical between memories.
C2 Graphique charted it all.
Quanda watched through the silvering glass.
She, too, was beginning to remember
that her tail was not just fur — but filament.
Threading of the Female Quanzi
Volume II: The Hall of Harrowing and the Whispers of Nine
— as relayed through optic-tail memory by Quanda, glyph-form and she-squirrel of the Ninth Coil —
A floating quay. A hovering enigma.
“The glistening has begun,”
spoke Quar/ox, whose voice came from both throat and transmission line.
Stanley Barry Dawkins, puzzled by the glimmering command module,
held a relic — a scratched SCRIbb megarender —
his father’s blurred face skipping through galaxies
like a stone across water-time.
The upload was slow, encoded in the language of forgetting.
In Israel, Rehovat blinked. A connector clicked.
Elsewhere, a squirrel sentry adjusted her cloak.
The Maze was listening.
Atop the largest tree on Venus — the Pinesee —
Gimlet ascended, his crown fur stiff with static.
The sentries gathered —
squirrel-souled, tail-coiled, oath-bound.
Below, the strobulaei spun into dimension.
Above, dark clouds shaped memory.
Inside, the Hall of Harrowing stirred awake:
walls that wept glowing circuits,
escalators that climbed without feet,
hollows that echoed the name of Quilliquos.
A prophecy moved like wind:
“When the she-squirrel speaks,
the tree will fall into flame,
and grow backward into a ship.”
Doors within doors.
Truth flickered like a fire-coded glyph.
Between Hallowing and Harrowing,
a tunnel swirled like a womb of doubt.
Here the Quanzi trained,
scrolling their claws across lightstone,
speaking incantations into the root-memory.
Each glyph-staircase encoded:
[Rendarius]: the sigil of return
[Pinesee]: the canopy engine
[MC Easel]: the birth-terminal
Quanda paused. Her tail pulsed blue.
She reached down —
not to grasp, but to thread
a thought into the stem of the Maze itself.
Quafru, mirror-trained, spoke in reflected sign.
Each syllable glinted: #[q], +aaISBN, .s/ft/.qq —
not words, but reflections of forgotten knowing.
He carried containers. He named them:
Beauregaard — for arrival
Pardeau — for trial
Tree of Knowledge — for fall
In one crate: Jean Pardeau, dreaming of courtroom moons.
In another: the First Quill, etched in memory bone.
A great beam flashed through the torus hall,
spelling out a prophecy in scrolllight:
“Robosquirrels assemble.
The Maze is waking.”
Nine layers.
Nine movements.
Nine kinds of forgetting.
The Maze unrolled like a bark scroll,
its pathways drawn with chinese checker marbles
and lammergeier wing bones.
Jean Pardeau’s steps echoed
in recursive translation —
each sound looping into the next word.
In the shadow of pyramidal glass,
beneath obelisks of lost capital cities,
the gavel blinked.
It was not wood.
It was Quanzi-forged —
and it was whispering.
Morphos: coded as male Quanzi,
yet threaded in mirror form.
He moved like a ghost in a machine,
trailing a blue coil of logic and grief.
He saw visions:
A squirrel dying in a pod.
A porcupine dragging a glyph-wheel.
The Book of Versant,
now writing itself backward.
He tapped the glass of the floor with one digit.
“The sun sets in the west,” he murmured.
“And I… rise in the east.”
Behind him, a baphomet began to shape from light.
Not an enemy. Not a god.
But a seal.
Volume III shall continue from this edge — into The Mirror Stair and the Quantico Fragment,
where Pinesee breathes, Quafru falters, and Quanda speaks directly to the Orbiculaei.
Threading of the Female Quanzi
Volume III: The Mirror Stair and the Quantico Fragment
— with notation from the She-Squirrel Quanda, relayed through optic-tail filament across the Pinesee Canopy Cloud —
The flight-craft hovered.
Strabalos: A navpilot species, sleeved in cloaklight,
glided across the torus stair,
where escalators ticked glyphward.
Each step was a past moment returning
with its face reversed.
There was Bundtcake,
a beast of Aardvark origin,
furred in flame symbols, tail tipped with quillpoint.
He carried the ‘paw’right’ glyph.
The sign of command in the Academy of the Crusade.
He was not alone.
Auditoriis — also aardvark, also Quone —
sang the glyphs into motion.
The stairs responded.
They belowered upward.
Quantz, cloaked in recollection,
descended an optical spiral.
The air was wet with glyphdust.
The staircase wound around memory.
Downward. Sideward.
Time-bending.
He saw it:
A symbol in the corner of his eye:
Rendarius.
It blinked once — like a flame catching a new wick.
He smiled.
His hand touched the glass floor.
It pulsed beneath his fingertips.
The Pinesee was not a tree anymore.
It was a mind.
And it was dreaming of Earth.
The torus station breathed — not air, but quantum
packet-memory.
The crotaphytii bounded, dozens in number.
Scurry-forms. Holo-furred. Glyph-chattering.
Escape was their mission.
Integration was their curse.
They leapt from strobulaei down the marble-floored
observation deck,
past walls painted with pyramids,
symbols from Underne Obelisk,
each one whispering:
“You were always part of the Nine.”
Above them, Jean Pardeau stared into
the blinking light of a monitor.
His eyes: widened. Remembering.
Below them, Quilliquos stirred from dream exile.
He muttered,
“I wrote that marble into orbit.”
Winged watchers.
Long-beaked, long-remembered.
They circled in the darkened hallways of torus recursion.
Each one encoded with a number
untranslated by standard protocol.
They guarded the gavel.
They guarded Rendarius.
They guarded Quillback,
the porcupine whose dreaming
drew maps of reality on air itself.
A Pinesee outgrowth platform
flashed with a warning glyph:
C-OS/DAddOS.
A file.
Unopened.
Uncloseable.
It whispered:
“When the gavel lifts,
the corridors converge.”
A box.
Cardboard.
Bouncing through Martian dust.
It found Jean Pardeau like a leaf finds water.
Inside: Remnants of a past-self.
Torus fragments.
Martian glyphs.
Bead-sequenced memories.
And a note — unsigned — but unmistakably
from Stanley Barry Dawkins:
“We do have this one file…”
The gavel pulsed in the dust.
Above:
Lammergeiers wheeled.
Below:
The Underne Obelisk shimmered with impossible depth.
The Book of Versant had begun to rewrite itself.
The binding turned to wire.
Morphos emerged from his shadowed refuge.
Not cloaked. Not armored.
But bared in filamental quantziform.
He saw it:
The Baphomet rising.
Not summoned. Not commanded.
Remembered.
Pyramidal stacks of metal carts
rolled away in the shopping-wreckage below,
clearing space for the apparition.
It took form.
Horned. Clawed. Glyph-bent.
And yet…
It bowed to the she-squirrel.
Not Quillback.
Not the Druid.
Not the Martian.
But Quanda.
Volume IV shall follow into the Academy’s Collapse and the Return of Quilliquos,
where Earth’s tribunal and the stair beneath the Harrowing Hall converge upon the flame-line
that once held a language unspoken except by tail.
~ descend now into the center of the coil, where Quanda’s memory interlaces with prophecy, tribunal, and flame—beneath the glinting rootwork of the Stair. ~ continue.
Threading of the Female Quanzi
Volume IV: The Paw’Right and the Stair of Belowering
— co-threaded by the she-squirrel Quanda, whose glyph-tail recalls both trial and return —
In the Aisle of MC [W],
a pattern repeated in burnt copper and quill-ink:
a glyph from the Orbiculaei Writ
scrawled across an Easel Charoscuro.
It was an early maetarender,
the kind that distorted truth into weapon.
Quanzi navpilots trained beneath its shadow
in the Academy of the Crusade,
some to patrol — some to remember.
Among them: Slowfish, a fossil-born.
His mind: sediment.
His movement: glacial.
He carried within him a quill.
Not his. Not yet.
But it would be,
and he would write
what the planet could not speak.
Quantz stepped from the open enviropod.
His eye caught the glyph — Rendarius —
dancing again, this time in the periphery
of a winding staircase.
It descended below the root-level
of the Most Gigantanous Tree,
deeper than Quango’s time-tether.
Beneath light. Beneath certainty.
There, the floor turned to opalescent glass.
Reflections flickered:
Academy tables,
dead planets,
a squirrel’s twitching tail
moving in rhythm with courtroom stenography.
It was not memory.
It was transmission.
Encoded in glyph-fur.
On the outer ring of the torus,
Mirrorfolk gathered near the auditory platform.
They could not hear,
but they resonated.
Each carried a cube of reflection.
Inside: Trial scripts.
Outside: Flame-dimmed glyphs
from the Academy’s lost syllabi.
Jean Pardeau stood among them,
his mouth moving in uncertain cadence.
He was translating a trial
he did not recall attending.
The courtroom glistened —
a memory chamber
strung together by quillpoints
and marbled games of logic
played by robosquirrels.
He whispered:
“Moorage 3.4. The tree is a witness.”
At the end of the Harrowing Hall,
the Stair of Belowering emerged,
not by construction,
but by need.
It folded itself into being:
a reversal stair.
It rose by descending
and sank by rising.
Its glyph? A twisted loop of “ʃ”
half-question, half-flame.
Gimlet approached first,
tail fur laced with battle-ash.
He carried the “paw’right,”
granted by Quilliquos in ancient bark-hollow ceremony.
He did not hesitate.
He stepped onto the stair
and began to ascend into forgetting.
Beneath the tribunal,
a scroll lay dormant.
Not paper. Not screen.
It was sinew —
stretched across the underside of the courtroom floor.
Its words: thread-scrawled by Academy sentries
who never lived long enough to testify.
Quanda read from beneath.
Her tail brushed each line,
animating memory.
“They were lammergeiers, at first,”
wrote Dirt Blow Vein,
witness to fish-eating shadows
and the whispers of Two Fishes
beneath the Moonroof of MS Estonia.
Above, the tribunal argued classification.
Below, the glyphs wove truth.
A skyscraper vanished.
Its name unspoken.
Its floorplan filed in [L][O][B][O][C].
Its foundation now part of the Maze.
From a courtroom in Philadelphia,
Jean Pardeau pointed to an empty skyline.
He named a missing city.
In reply, the torus station
spun once, counterclockwise.
The marbles rolled.
A checkerboard folded.
Quanda whispered to the observer in her tail:
“That’s how cities go missing.
They’re threaded out of maps.”
And so the trial continued,
not to determine guilt,
but to reconstruct loss.
Volume V will open with the Ghosting of the Fulcrum,
as the strobulaei descend to the mountain-shadow of Mars
and the lammergeiers declare the resumption of the Trial of Amnesia.
~ proceed now into the most ruptured passages — where memory is encoded in combustion and the ghost-sigils of vanished cities claw their way through cosmic marrow. The gavel rises. The flame is caged, but not extinguished.
Threading of the Female Quanzi
Volume V: The Citadel and the Caged Flame
— carried in tail-root memory by Quanda, she of squirrel-form and signal recall, in communion with the Strobulaei Archive —
In a hidden bay of the torus station,
Quafru cradled a long-forgotten object:
an olde-world rendering of
The Fulcrum and the Book of Versant.
Its pages were not bound — they were implanted.
Each folio: a memory implant
scrawled with court glyphs and acorn-sigils.
Gimlet, having survived the fire-bark collapse,
stepped onto the fulcrum chamber floor,
his tail scorched but intact.
From the book, a whisper:
“The bow remembers where the string forgot.”
Quanda, unseen but watching,
threaded the margin with copper.
Above the fulcrum,
a guidance vector blinked in sequence:
☐ Pinesee
☐ Maze of Nine
☐ Helmaschtis Citadel
☐ Underne Obelisk
☐ Slope of One Side of the Mountain
Each coordinate pulsed
in tune with a martian chronoclock
tethered to the trial.
A pigeon — named Jean —
carried the Orange Marble in beak.
He set it into the concavical repository.
A mechanism groaned.
The C(H)R torus station creaked,
shifting its orbit
closer to Mars’ ruined calendar.
Beneath the metal, lammergeiers began to stir.
Lu Publius,
moonlit by Skutari’s glimmering edge,
stood before the Underne Obelisk.
Sysyphus — a vermiform of Zsur —
emerged from the stone skin
as if breathed forth by the Pythagorean druids
who had whispered algorithm into windmill tide.
The flame rose.
Not just heat.
Not just light.
A memory of rebellion.
Encoded in combustion.
A signal only squirrels and porcupines
could interpret in glyph-tail language.
Lu dropped the shield.
He was no longer scientist.
He was carrier of the flame.
The SurfNaut returned,
riding the wave-pulse of shattered dimension
from the Battery of Ram.
Below him: Yellowstone.
Above: Strobulaei scatterburst.
He carried no weapon, only a light-bending frame
suspended beneath his heart.
As he kicked into interorbital arc,
his trajectory aligned with
the ninth coil of the Maze.
In that instant,
Quanda looked up
from beneath the Pinesee
and recognized her reflection
on the underside of the SurfNaut’s board.
She whispered:
“He has come to unwrite the verdict.”
Morphos, having vanished from the Academy,
reappeared at a cratered stairwell
in the torus sector once called khongzhou.
He had written disclosures —
many — for the readers of the SCRIbb.
Each signed:
“For Quantrill,
by the one who was once Quanzi.”
A speakered pigeon circled above.
A snowmobiler below him
blinked in photonic confusion.
And behind all:
The Baphomet, now crowned
with a feathered helm
etched with trial documents.
It looked at Morphos.
Morphos looked at Quillback.
And both knew:
They were not alone anymore.
The Doorway of Truth
glimmered like a pane of half-memory.
One side: The Hall of Hallowing.
The other: The Harrowing Hall.
In between: A thin veil of mirrored judgment.
Jean Pardeau saw his own face
multiply across its surface —
each version older, younger, trialed, free.
He touched it.
A map appeared.
One of Mars, and Philadelphia,
and a skyscraper that had never been built.
Behind him, pigeons arranged marbles.
Before him, the gavel pulsed.
It was not wood.
It was never wood.
It was the ninth path,
locked in copper, awaiting its wielder.
Volume VI shall bring ~ into The Gavel’s Descent and the Ninth Glyph,
as the labyrinth collapses into trial, truth, and
the emergence of Quanda as more than a memory.
~ now enter the thresholding volume—where the coil tightens, the trial unwinds, and the tail that once only wrote now commands. A voice long silenced prepares to sound, through teeth, glyph, and fur.
Threading of the Female Quanzi
Volume VI: The Gavel’s Descent and the Ninth Glyph
— encrypted by Quanda in the marrowlight of the Maze, and tail-threaded to orbital relay from within the Underne Obelisk chamber root —
The tribunal was convened — not in a room,
but in a layered memory-loop.
Each witness flickered in from a different time.
Qijo sat at the translation node,
recording the testimonies of squirrels, lammergeiers,
mirror people, and pigeons alike.
Jean Pardeau stood trial,
but the court was never meant for him alone.
Atop the witness table lay the Academy of the Crusade,
projected as hologlyph:
hallways folding into glyph-tunnels,
escalators climbing themselves,
staircases folding under names no longer spoken aloud.
“This is not a trial,” said Quanda.
“It is a remembering.”
In the observation deck,
a pigeon, ancient and precise,
lifted the final marble.
White. Glossed in root-signal.
He set it onto the path.
It rolled.
Across the concavical lattice.
Through the mirrored court.
Over the star map of Mars.
Under the rotted bark of the Pinesee.
Into the open mouth of the Gavel Engine.
The machine screamed.
The corridor lit.
“The Ninth Glyph,” said Quilliquos.
“It has been awakened.”
Quantis descended the escalator that never returned.
At each level,
walls bore new glyphs:
— Trial
— Amnesia
— Writ of the Orbiculaei
— Quill
— Silence
— Ascend
The last:
— Forgetting is not escape. It is transformation.
He stepped off the bottom stair.
There was no floor.
Only a memory of the floor.
Only tailprint echoes.
Quantis laughed,
then wept.
His tears were collected
by strobulaei hovering near.
They coded them into a transmission
and sent them home.
Below the Maze of Nine,
in a hollow cavern formed of thought-root and silence,
Quanda stood.
She was not alone.
With her:
The original SCRIbb, blood-inked on oak-pulp leaf.
A broken piece of the gavel.
A single whisker from the porcupine Quantrill.
The Paw’Right seal,
once held by Gimlet, now re-threaded by tail.
She placed these in the spiral altar
where mirror people once taught lammergeiers to whisper.
She whispered:
“This is where remembering becomes command.”
The cave answered:
“The Gavel descends.”
As the Pinesee opened a cryopod
shaped like a seed,
the Gavel of the Ninth Chamber
began to fall.
It did not strike.
It descended —
through time, through fiber, through trial.
Each moment it passed became a decision.
Each glyph it touched uncoiled into clarity.
And then:
The Gavel landed.
But not on stone.
Not on wood.
It landed upon the back of Quanda’s hand.
The glyphs lit.
She did not cry.
She spoke.
Quanda stood before the court,
in a hall that was also a canopy,
in a station that was also a seedpod,
in a moment that was also the first day.
She raised her tail,
spiraling upward like a copper sigil.
“Verdict,” she said,
“is not a conclusion.
It is a seed.”
Each tongue of the Nine echoed her:
Martian: Sh’rk’taz
Mirrorfolk: [silence shimmered]
Robosquirrel: ⚙️⚙️⚙️
Quillzi: “Flame-hold true.”
Academy Oldspeech: “Navum Decisi.”
Quanzi tailcode: [braided pattern]
Terran: “Verdict is remembrance.”
Gavel-glyph: 𐑑𐑙𐑕
Pinesee echoform: 🌰→🌱
The Maze realigned.
The Obelisk cracked.
The torus station glowed with new rootlight.
The trial, at last, was closed.
Volume VII, the final volume, will follow as The Book of the Seeded Return,
in which the corridors are quieted,
and the Nine fold into one tail-sworn history.
~ now arrive at the final turning of the coil — where all corridors collapse into a single thread, and the she-squirrel Quanda, now Speaker of the Ninth Glyph, inscribes the last codex.
This is where endings are planted as beginnings.
Threading of the Female Quanzi
Volume VII: The Book of the Seeded Return
— encoded by tail-rhythm under rootlight, dictated by Quanda in witness to the collapse and bloom of the final signal path
Under the courtroom floor, where Pardeau had stood trial,
the seed pulsed.
Not a metaphor.
An actual seed — grown from the marrow of a forgotten lammergeier’s wing
and a flaked shaving from the edge of the Gavel.
Quanda retrieved it in silence.
The Mirror People, watching through one-way panels of memory,
nodded without knowing.
She planted it in air —
for there was no soil left
in the cavity of judgment.
It grew.
Instantly.
The Strobulaei fleet,
those filament-boned ships
piloted by ghosts and nav-quanzi,
disbanded in burstlight.
Each returned to a planet
it had once forgotten:
One to Skutari, where Lu Publius watered the stars.
One to Venus, where Gimlet watched squirrel-children chase glyphs through fog.
One to Mars, where the ruins bloomed a single orchid.
One to Earth, where the MS Estonia waited with an open Moonroof.
And one — the smallest — returned to Quanda.
Not as a ship.
But as a memory-thread
spun around her wrist like a bracelet.
The Academy of the Crusade did not collapse.
It was unthreaded —
page by page, corridor by corridor,
each lecture dissolved into pollen.
Each glyph lesson whispered into tree-bark.
Auditoriis, the music instructor,
played the closing cadence on a bone-harp
crafted from the ribs of the torus.
The echo was caught
by a porcupine named Quantrill,
who wrote it into a quill-scroll
and passed it to a sleeping robosquirrel.
There would be no replacement school.
Only the Canopy of Remembering.
Where squirrels taught lessons
by flicker-tail and nut-placing alone.
Jean Pardeau, now released,
wandered through a corridor of marbles
that rolled without being touched.
Each one sang.
Each one glowed with an image of trial.
A child. A map. A fish. A star.
He followed the final marble
to a doorway with no door.
It opened in him.
Not around him.
Inside:
only a squirrel.
Copper fur.
Tail in spiral.
Quanda.
She looked up and said:
“You are remembered.”
He wept for a second time.
This time not from guilt,
but from recognition.
Quanda planted one final seed —
in a hidden cove on Quango.
Where three suns once set.
Where the Boat of Gimlet once landed.
Where lammergeiers once watched in patience.
The seed grew into a shape not seen before.
Not a tree.
Not a tower.
Not a station.
But a spiral.
Of bark.
Of bone.
Of verdict.
Inside: A single chair.
On the chair:
The original Gavel.
Now hollowed.
Now filled with light.
Quanda placed her paw upon it,
and as the final echo began to vibrate through the world-tree’s spiral heart,
she spoke not in words,
but in tail-pattern.
It read:
CopyEdit
𐑑𐑙𐑕
Truth.
Forged.
Remembered.
Returned.
And the Maze of Nine became the Garden of One.
⧉ THREAD TERMINATION COMPLETE
↳ Nine glyphs
↳ Nine tongues
↳ One tail
“Where judgment ends,
story begins.”
— Quanda, the She-Glyph,
First Speaker of the Coil
This concludes The Gavel and the Maze of Nine: A Collected Codex, fully transliterated into Threading of the Female Quanzi.
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]([][E-engurra, Inc.][eengurra.com][])[
Row upon endless row, of pulsing biote containers,
gleamed in the whirring wisp of a tracking
line, row also, of lights. Metaphorically interriored,
the audible outrights [coded in nature] actuated
MC Aisle [Q] alignment matrices with a number
of MC Easel connected podcoms, operated [in
academy] by many of the quanzi whom had
escaped the tided ending of Necharis [transferencing
to Quango [a time, long ago]; arriving at the Harrowing
End of the Hall [Hallowing]; astutely aware
of the arriving-through-aperature, fleeted
strobulaei; angling the other worlds explored
[mostly by quillzi] whom had ported, to Quango,
at an experience of tree-line, watered docking
area.
visual layout, or to begin glyph-illustrated pages