Chapter 13: Debates

Chapter 13: Debates

Orwa, Day 5 of Melia

Blind Moons

Year 602

A memory does not have to be pleasant to be forever emblazoned on the mind. The most important moments are implacable and colour all; much as the glare of the sun overlays all after exposure.

—The Facerum

The great Hunt in Daitak Capital had concluded, and the hundreds of riders and walkers had returned to the keep, flushed, sweaty, and happy.

The kitchens experienced an overwhelming and immediate influx of provision, and the disgruntled cooks and staff struggled to keep up with the butchery and the ridiculous surplus of precious stones and fine jewelry. Each bird was tagged and labeled with the respective hunter’s name, so the guests could be sure they would receive their spoils without confusion.

And now the third and final part of the hunt could occur.

The evening brought a second feast, ever bigger and more lavish than the first. In addition, guests were encouraged to stroll, pick at the succulent trays of food, dance, or engage in the lively debates and performances sprinkled throughout the vibrant Daitak Keep.

Bryn Beynon had spent his afternoon in relative quiet, an aberration for him during this annual festival. He hadn’t seen either Alisia or her new friend Governor Watkyn from—where was he from again? he thought. Craestor?

Beynon didn’t care. She could spend time with whoever she wanted, doing whatever she wanted. He certainly did. And he wasn’t quiet about it.

But for the first time, he wondered if his activity in this respect bothered her at all.

Still clad in festival finery and flanked by a set of three guards, Beynon walked his keep, watching the other revelers. He did not dance, as he had no taste for it. Even the women who captured his attention in bed could not interest him in expressing his feelings in this way; he doubted he’d ever find anyone who would.

But it certainly was diverting to watch everyone else at it.

On the west side of the great hall, one of the ballad singers was just stepping down off of a makeshift stage built of rough timber and festooned with heraldry, and two men in bright clothing stepped up to take his place.

“The debate,” one of them announced grandly, “Will be on the latest political development concerning organized religion in Daitak. Ladies and gentlemen, though a matter of religion, it is indeed a political development, as the capital itself currently opposes the inclusion of pagan temples not dedicated to the Divine Pantheon. I, Starr, will be representing the religious outliers.”

“And I,” said the other man in kind, “Kip, will be speaking on behalf of the capital. Please do hold your comments until the debate is finished. Enjoy!”

The crowd that had gathered about the small stage burst into modest, spontaneous applause.

Interested in spite of himself, Beynon motioned to his guard to stop while he listened.

This was a conversation that had gathered some momentum lately, and while Bryn assumed the capital would win out as they usually did, he didn’t mind listening to some counterarguments.

It was sort of a moot point. The Capital collected income from the temples dedicated to the Divines. As far as he was concerned, it was a simple as that.

“The capital,” began the second man, Kip, “Believes that its citizens ought to come first. We protect our own, always—and without apology. The populace of Daitak worships the Divine Pantheon with near perfect consistency. Of course we have constructed temples to the purpose. To include places of worship dedicated to other deities would alienate our own people—our people who provide us with vital goods and services.”

“Why,” asked Starr suddenly, striding competitively to the forefront, “should we limit Daitak’s earning potential to our locals, those born and raised here? Others are migrating here from distant parts of Urda, and indeed from all over Heladrith! With them, these travelers bring new study and ideas. Ideas crucial for the advancement of prime cities like Daitak.”

Beynon watched silently, trying to absorb the information from a commoner’s point of view. Was this truly how they saw things?

“Singular,” said a voice startlingly close to him.

Beynon jumped and turned to his guards, who still flanked him. The remark had come from a stranger standing stock-still nearby—a woman, from the sound of it.

She wore all-black clothing, but the cut of it was anything but drab.

“Trying to place me?” she asked.

He knew that voice. She was one of his fools. But one he didn’t know very well or call for very often. His shoulders relaxed slightly as the potential threat melted away.

“There it is,” she said, satisfied that he recognized her now.

He took a moment to study her more carefully.

Dark boots gave way to a pair of shapely legs in tights, then modestly covered by a belted tunic. The sleeves belled out slightly but were then gathered gallantly at the wrists. Her elfin face was framed by a black hood, pointed at the crown of the head.

“What do you do here, fool?” Beynon asked. “You stand by watching a political debate instead of entertaining guests as I have paid you to do. Does the subject so fascinate you?”

“Not especially,” she said flippantly, “as I worship no one at all. Well,” and here she stopped and placed a delicate finger to her chin in demonstrated thought, “Except for apathy, perhaps. And while I am in your employ, I do not happen to be of the score whose duty it is to entertain guests this evening. I come for myself, as it were.”

He frowned.

“And speaking of Lady Apathy,” she went on, “Isn’t that the crux of who’s gathered here by this sub-stage? Worshippers of comfortable stasis? One must be apathetic to hold still and watch utter foppish carps like this talk of change without anyone making a move to enact it. One could argue, Imperial Highness, that this is exactly where I belong.”

He nodded slowly, amused. “And do you hold an opinion on which of these,” he said smiling, “foppish carps, I think you called them?—is correct in their argument?”

“I know not my own mind yet,” the Fool said carefully. “And anyway, I don’t possess the head for such rhetoric.”

Somehow, he doubted that.

“What is your own opinion?” she asked.

“Kip is correct, absolutely,” he answered without consideration.

She smiled widely at him, folding her arms about herself. “And what is your reasoning?” she asked.

“The best decision must be made to effect the greatest amount of people. People in the capital largely worship the Pantheon. We cannot afford to isolate or alienate our own, and should protect against those who would undermine the wishes of our people, subtly or otherwise.”

The fool nodded at him emphatically. “Very wise, your Imperial Highness,” she said. “I shall defer to you in this matter.”

“What if I don’t want you to defer to me?” he countered suddenly.

“Your Imperial Majesty?”

Beynon shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “What if I want you to challenge me?” he prodded. “What if I want stimulation, interest, a keen mind, and all without obligation or commitment?”

He saw a flicker of unease in her eyes, but she masked it perfectly. “His Imperial Highness must always have exactly what he wants,” she answered evenly. “You have but to ask, and I am at your service.”

Their attention went momentarily back to the tiny stage as Kip was explaining that the temples to the Divine Pantheon generated a significant amount of income for Daitak.

“This is a palpable amount,” he insisted. “Without which the capital would surely flounder. Offending the city’s chief donors by making room for intruders is a terrible, ill-conceived idea as it may contribute to their impulses to withdraw funding.”

“May contribute, my opponent says,” interrupted Starr. “Can we truly presume to make nigh irreversible decisions for a ‘may’ or ‘might’ situation? We need concrete facts!”

“I think I have enough concrete facts for this evening,” said the Fool out of the side of her mouth. “I’ve done my part. Now I want some wine.”

Beynon smirked a little. She was amusing, to be sure.

“Join me?” she asked him casually.

“Why not?”

And the two of them began a slow lap around the keep.

“How many fools do I employ now?” he asked her offhandedly.

The fool pursed her lips. “That’s an interesting question,” she said. “My first impulse is to answer figuratively; ‘only one,’ as we are all legs of the same centipede, used for the same purpose, and interchangeable according to your Imperial Majesty’s taste. But knowing that you, as usual, wish for ice-cold information, I shall answer you literally. And the answer is eighteen.”

Eighteen fools, Beynon thought. He had no accompanying considerations on the subject. He did not wonder if that was too many, or think that an emperor keeping more than one was unusual, or marvel at how many of them were women. That was the lovely thing about data. It required no commentary and seldom a reaction of any kind.

“You have only accompanied me once or twice,” he said to the Fool. “What are you called?”

“Mira, your Imperial Majesty,” she said with a slight bow from the waist. “And it is my honor to serve you.”

He thought of Jax, that noisome fool who had bothered him the night before, and wondered if he should discharge the man. Maligning anyone in the royal party was frowned upon, and he knew many rulers who would have executed him for the off-colour joke aimed at Alisia and himself. Then he shrugged the thoughts away, resolving to consider them at a later time. Not during an international festival, and certainly not surrounded by subjects and visitors.

Alisia suddenly approached them, pulling Beynon out of his reverie. Her hair, fingers, and neck had been adorned with countless jewels and precious metals—most likely gifts from admirers and acquisitions from the Hunt. It was a ridiculous thing to do, but appropriate under the circumstances. He knew she was communicating solidarity by allowing the indulgent behavior. Bryn thought that the effect should have been gaudy; not wearable at all, but somehow, Alisia managed to bear it well and with dignity.

She gave him a simple curtsy, and he returned with a bow.

Almost without thinking, he offered her his arm, and she took it, boxing out the fool as they continued strolling through the hall.

Mira followed behind for a while, but soon decided they should have their privacy and went off in search of other diversions.

“What should I conclude from your approaching me in this way?” Beynon asked Alisia.

She smiled at a party guest that they happened to be passing. “Anything you like,” she replied, her toneless voice belying the animated, delighted look she’d pasted on her face. “But you might start with the undeniable fact that I am your wife and that it encourages citizens to see us together.”

“Are people talking already, then?”

She cocked her head at him. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Beynon sniffed. “Where is your escort?” he returned, hating the way the accusation crept into his voice. “The Governor couldn’t stay to dinner?”

Alisia forced a little laugh, then continued to smile as if their conversation was both pleasant and engaging. “He’s with his own party,” she replied. “He returns to Craestor tomorrow; I’m sure they’ll need to make preparations.”

“Pity. You both seemed to be having such a nice time.”

He felt rather than saw her flush. Alisia stopped moving suddenly and squeezed the crook of his elbow tightly. “You’ve long relinquished your right to be jealous, Bryn. You spurn me constantly,” she said, her eyes flashing. Her voice was low and a little dangerous. “You show disinterest for me in front of others. You can’t even finish one evening meal without leaving angered and disgusting by my company.”

“You mean ‘disgusted,’ most likely, and not ‘disgusting.’”

As a small group of dignitaries passed, both Bryn and Alisia nodded convivially to them. When they were all out of earshot, Alisia took a breath and then continued.

“You are cruel to make this your standard and then disapprove when I seek company elsewhere. You cannot have it both ways.”

He met her eyes. They were dark and intense; he didn’t remember the last time he’d seen her like this.

He was opening his mouth to reply when he noticed two liveried guards making their way across the crowded hall toward the couple.

“Imperial Highness,” one of them said breathlessly. “I bear news from Constable Corbin.”

Talebot, thought Beynon. They’d been questioning the man for days without success.

“It appears we’ve learned some new information about the forces behind him, Imperial Majesty. Corbin got him to divulge some interesting details that he feels your Imperial Majesty may find fascinating.”

Beynon nodded curtly to the man. “Shall I come now?”

“If it please you, Imperial Highness.”

He turned to Alisia and gently disengaged her hand from the crook of his arm. “I must see to this,” he told her softly. “We’ll talk more later.”

* * *

The four companions gathered around the campfire to eat and get to know one another.

Evin felt as empty as her stomach. She knew somehow, that this was the worst the homesickness would get. That if only she could make it through this night, things might get just a little easier. Now, in the darkness on the trail with strangers, she felt tired, sore, hungry, and miserable.

Tadyath had built a brilliant blaze that nevertheless soon tired itself out and sank down into gemlike coals, the air above wavering with the heat.

Even in Melia, Evin was glad for the warm glow of the fire. Especially after her impromptu fishing lesson with Himes.

He’d been patient with her, showing her how to tie up worms in string and then affix these to a sturdy length of timber. She hadn’t cared for that part, but the sitting and waiting wasn’t so bad. It made her feel peaceful, looking out over the rushing rapids and the smooth, glassy bits alike. The river was roughly twenty gerds wide, and much more turbulent than smooth, but the little calm wells in the surface of the water made for perfect fishing holes.

Evin had only succeeded in hooking fish that yanked her into the cool water up to her knees and then swam away. But while she seemed to frustratingly collect damp spots on her clothing, Himes collected an impressive amount of fresh fish—trout, namely.

Afterward, they de-scaled the creatures, scraping Himes’ sharp knife back over the meaty sides of the fish, then cutting a long incision up the belly and removing the gut. They scrubbed out the gel-like blood lines using cool river water and filleted the trout.

At the campsite, Tadyath and Himes skewered the fillets on sharpened sticks and stuck them deep into the ground near the coals.

Craig returned shortly after with a fresh bundle of logs. She told them she’d set a river trap and two bird traps that would need to be checked ere long.

Slowly, the evening began to deepen.

Over the smoke and intimacy of the fire, Evin could see a small Petra and luminous Thyxia hanging low in the sky. It made her feel inexplicably lonely. She shifted her position on the ground slightly and blinked hard, trying to dispel the tears that were pricking at her eyes. Her chest hurt. Her throat ached. What was she doing out here? With strangers? What had she been thinking?

Tadyath cleared his throat. “Fishing was good today, I see,” he suggested.

Himes nodded, replying, “I love a good dinner of fresh trout.”

The group nodded collectively.

“Have you ever heard the song about the patient fisherman?” Tadyath asked.

It was abrupt, but the others nodded, humoring him. Evin shook her head silently.

He grinned in return. “Why don’t we fix that?” he asked kindly. “It's a classic.”

They had eaten the succulent fish and fed their fire once more, which popped and crackled merrily. Evin looked across the blaze at her traveling companions, their eyes dark as coal, peeking out of faces rife with strange shadows.

Tadyath took a breath and began.

“A fisherman came to the shore

A-searching for his supper!

He’d traveled far and wide and swore

To satiate his hunger!

The fisherman, he cut a length

Of tough and pliant timber!

He cast the line with all his strength,

A-looking for some dinner!

His luck was with him, for he did

Catch cat-fish in a pair-O!

The fisherman, he danced a jig,

A-right there on the shore-O!

He tossed his spoils on the shore,

And went back to his culling,

A-planning for to catch some more,

Though two exceeded nothing!

His second pair he landed fast,

And felt his stomach cry-O!

He couldn't wait to eat at last,

Returning with his prize-O!

His feast complete, the fisherman

Could have returned for dinner,

But hungrier than he began,

He felt compelled to linger!

If four fish made a hearty meal,

Would not two more be finer?

The fisherman began to feel

His heart grow over-eager!

When thence he moved to cast his line

Once more into the river,

He waded deep into the brine,

And lost his meal forever!

While scanning waters brackish and

Engaged in finding ought-O,

A bear appeared and stole the fish,

And left without a thought-O!

Everyone gave a little chuckle and clapped at the end of Tadyath’s song, and Craix remarked that her father had used to sing this ballad with a different verse about the fisherman waiting for the fish to bite initially.

A short silence fell over the group and they sighed, leaning back with full and contented bellies.

Moments later, Himes piped up. “You know, that songs reminds me of a story we used to tell in the army about Minos the Wealth Goddess,” he said.

“Oh,” said Evin, remembering hazily that Minos had turned into a bear. It was all very vague to her—no specifics whatsoever. She knew there was a constellation dedicated to Minos. “Is the constellation out tonight?” she asked. Her voice slurred a little, and she realized suddenly how exhausted she was.

Craix tilted her head up to peer through the treetops that framed the tiny clearing. “No,” she said hesitantly, then, “Yes. There it is,” and she pointed. “The treasure bag, the bear’s snout, and it’s legs—just there.”

They all squinted and tilted their heads until they saw it.

“I don’t know that one either,” said Evin with a yawn. “The story, I mean.”

“Tell it, Himes,” said Craix insistently.

The redhead sighed and flexed his fingers. “I’m not much of a hand at stories, but I’ll do my best.”

Evin leaned in, interested despite how heavy her eyelids were.

Himes began.

“The Goddess Minos was born into poverty. Her parents had nothing, and raised her with nothing.

As she grew into a young woman, she learned how to trade with the other members of the Divine Pantheon, and how to drive a bargain to gain a profit. Minos was innately skilled at discovering the wants and needs of others, then stockpiling that resource and selling it for a high price.

This is how it happened: young Minos was close friends with Eena the Goddess of Mysteries. Eena was instrumental in developing the the concept of modern brewing and the use of potions in general, and she often gave her castoffs to Minos.

Minos, of course, was very shrewd. She listened at council meetings and social functions, and she knew which gods and goddesses needed specifics brews. For example, Orwa, the Goddess of Mourning, once cried for twenty days without ceasing. Minos offered her a Calm Draught, an Ease Pain Philter, and a Joy Elixir—but all for a price.

This interaction made Minos realize she could be very, very successful.

She began to keep a careful ledger of her neighbors’ wants and needs, and would target them for particular products. As a result, she made quite a bit of money.

But not just coin—treasure. Some members of the Pantheon paid Minos in priceless heirlooms and jewels, all of which she kept and stored in her home.

At about this time, Minos began to grow uneasy. She was well aware that she had amassed great wealth, more than anyone alive during her time. She was concerned that someone would come to her home in the night and take all of her possessions. Her trips out into the countryside became less and less frequent. She continued selling however, and her desire to stock relevant inventory was so great that she began to seek bigger storage facilities.

She eventually found a cave in one of the mountainsides—a cave on Slager Mountain, to be exact, and she decided to move all of her inventory and her great wealth there.

By this time, her friends and family were concerned. Minos had become very successful, but was loathe to leave her home in the cave. She received some visitors, but they described the interactions as very odd indeed.

Some time passed.

Soon, it became apparent that none of her close friends or family had heard from Minos, and her brother Staos went to the cave to check on her.

There was no answer at the door.

He knocked again.

Nothing.

Staos pushed the door in and entered. The underground home had been completely trashed. There were food scraps and garbage on the floor.

Staos called out, ‘Minos? Minos!’

But there was no answer.

He walked farther into the cave, past Minos’ pantry, living rooms and bedrooms. He entered the hallway that housed her storerooms, where she kept all of her inventory for her business.

Suddenly, there came a great bellow from the last storeroom, and he cowered in fear, for he knew it could not be human.

With a rush of cold air, the far door flew off of its very hinges, and a great bear came loping down the hall. It seemed to have no cognizance or interest in Staos. Instead, it stumbled through the house, upsetting furniture and other items, eventually finding its way to the front door where it disappeared forever into the night.

Staos returned home to his family and friends visibly shaken. He reported that his older sister Minos was missing. A search party was formed and dispatched, though it was all done with the emptiness of a spent wineskin.

Minos was gone.

Years later at a gathering when Staos was deep in his cups, he admitted the truth: the

bear he had spied was wearing a gown of eborel crepe, and sported a thulite pendant about its neck—the same pendant that had been given to Minos by her parents on her twentieth summer. Staos felt stupid declaring he believed his sister had turned into a wild animal, but there simply wasn’t a better explanation.

To this day, the constellation of Minos the Bear can be seen in the night sky on most nights, but usually when the moons are blind or nearly so. Minos is not the only bear among the classic constellations, but she is the only one with a star at her collarbone—representing the thulite pendant that sparkles always about her neck.

The end of the story prompted a heavy silence. Everyone stared into the flames and resolved to be less greedy and more aware of the needs of others.

And no one noticed that Evin had fallen fast asleep.