Book 2, Chapter 10: Day Four: Therefore I Am

While practicing riding on the fourth day – which really meant I was not practicing weapons – I suddenly remembered my Descartes: ‘I think therefore I am.” I was, after all, in a body not originally mine. Or I was born into this body and this world, this universe, started existing exactly at that time. It seemed unlikely, but it wasn’t a problem I could solve: which came first, me or the universe?

In my previous universe, that was easy to solve. It had recorded history. You flip through your parent’s old photos and you’re not in them. One day, my cynical self said, you wouldn’t be in pictures again. Maybe I no longer was! I think it was Nabokov who likened the time after death to the time before birth. At least, photographically.

Here, I wasn’t aware of that yet. Hadn’t seen any history books. Except, I guess, for the ancient architecture and geography of the land. The world certainly appeared to pre-exist me. I certainly appeared to be Princess Cayce, a young girl in a messed-up situation.

And that’s where Kant came in. Descartes’ proposition was that we could never know, with 100% certainty, anything beyond ‘I think, therefore I am’ or ‘I know it’s me doing the thinking.’ He challenged himself with the suggestion that his thoughts could be from someone else, like being under the control and production of an evil demon. So, he reasoned his way out of that by saying something like, ‘even if my mind is ultimately the product of an evil demon’s illusion, I am still me, as I seem to be the one doing the thinking.’

That never sat well with Kant. Didn’t sit well with me, either. And look how that turned out! I literally couldn’t tell if I was in a video game or if, against all reason, my mind had been transported here, to this body and place and time. Kant’s solution works as well for me: it doesn’t matter. I’m here, I’m experiencing life as a young princess exactly as if the experience were real. Therefore, it’s real. It’s real to me.

So, Kant basically invented the subjective/objective divide to reason his way out of Descartes’ challenge, ‘how do we know anything is real?’ It doesn’t matter, Descartes, because if it’s fake, it’s indistinguishable from real. And anyways, you’re dead. No more photos for you.

That is what life is like when you are cut off from the Internet, from technology, music, and everything you know. Lots and lots of time on your hands to think. Time to start practicing something else other than trotting along. Time for a gallop!

We galloped. I leaned forward as instructed, didn’t squeeze too hard or pull on the reins. It’s very different than trotting, less jarring in fact. The horse’s gait becomes longer in rhythm, like you’re flying from one step to the next, air whipping past your face, hair blowing behind. When you’re not in danger of falling, it’s a lot of fun, and I found myself smiling. I even patted the beast on the neck.

And it was, at the moment, very subjectively real.

***

“Your swing is fine, but your slice is terrible. It’s like you’re trying to break the sword. Stop curling your wrists over! Keep the blade level.”

That’s when it hit me. I was swinging the sword like a baseball bat. Those are top heavy, and you want to put all your momentum into the end of the bat, transferring it to the ball. Apparently, swords didn’t work like that.

“Wait a sec. How’s this?” I tried to aim the power near the middle of the blade and not twist my hands.

“Do that again.”

I did.

“Much, much better Princess. But now you’re leading too much with your body.”

I sighed. “Let me work on this for a while.”

“Please do.”

I tried to pretend I was swinging a big knife. Slicing, not smashing. My sides eventually got tired and I switched to spear.

***

The rest of the day was quiet. We traversed the grass field, stopped at the many small rivers to take water for ourselves and the animals. Yet it was faster going than in the forest. Less deadfall to clear.

Little out of the ordinary happened throughout the day. I trained more in weapons, riding. We had dried rations for dinner, cooked food for supper after we’d stopped for the night. Brin insisted and, well, the chefs didn’t have a lot to do then anyways.

After supper, the night guards came. I rose from the table and greeted them, then asked, “Tell me, gentlemen, do you sleep during the day?”

“Your Highness, yes. Unlike the soldiers marching, we are entitled to rest in the wagons.” He swallowed hard, staring at a point just over my shoulder.

I turned. Morrentz. Staring back. I cocked my head at him, waving him back with my hand as surreptitiously as I could, and whispered, “Stop it!”

“Stop what?” He pulled a mug of ale to his lips.

“Alright, thank you gentlemen. Uh, take your posts. Here, let me get you some tea.” I moved toward the table, walking around the big man.

“No, no, my lady, we are fine. Really and truly.”

I lowered my voice, asking Brin, “Could you just bring them some tea? We’re having a masculinity problem here.”

She smiled, “A servant could do it.”

“Brin! Not you, too!”

“I’ll get the tea.”

“No need, my ladies, it’s my pleasure,” Tread said as he picked up the teapot, carrying it over to the four guardsmen. He had a light smile on his face and avoided Morry’s gaze.

Alright, I thought to myself, Tread won that round. As I turned to walk to my tent, I caught Brin smiling after the boy. Morry’s possessiveness, Tread and Brin . . . flirting?

I escaped into my tent and hurriedly washed my face, got ready for bed, even used the toilet, all the while enjoying my privacy.