Ironcraft

by Pedro Gabriel

  Chapter

  9

  Widening Rifts

  When the celestial iron had all been gathered, the enochin looked upon it and knew it was scarce indeed. Skillotz went to Nod and asked her:

  “Oh star, you said we could extract iron from the bowels of the earth. Please teach us how to do so, for this iron is not enough for our army.”

  The sylphid darted her eyes all around, as a hunter darts his gaze in search of a hare hidden in the woods. Her penetrating stare could see beyond the thick layers of dirt and soil, as if they were naught but transparent veils. She pointed her finger, and gave her sentence:

  “Behold the Hill, whereupon Enoch is ensconced. In its core will ye find iron, and plenty of it. Go to Malvizio and ask him how to dig a mine there, as I have instructed him.”

  But Skillotz knew this would not be an easy feat. He asked his father to summon the judges, for this matter needed to be settled. Of the seven judges of Enoch, four were Bar-Kain, from underhill, and three were Bar-Iared, from overhill. Of the four Bar-Kain, one was Talizima, the councilor. Another was Malvizio, the priest. Skillotz had been anointed a judge in the past few days, for he had proved himself worthy. Yet another one was Kolinzio, who was absent due to Aigonz’s ecstasy.

  “Honourable judges of the village of Enoch,” Talizima began. “I hereby open this session. We must discuss a matter of great importance, for our very survival depends on it. As you all know, we could but fashion a half-dozen weapons with the celestial iron we gathered. They are superb weapons indeed, yet still not enough for our purposes. Nod has offered us hope, for she has told us where we can find more iron. The heart of the Hill is nothing but a great hoard of ore, it seems. I believe we should mine it.”

  The councilor then turned to the three Bar-Iared judges:

  “As the overhill people was exempted from fighting on the battlefield, I believe this task must fall to them. Truly, when I conceded this grace, this is what I said: that you would be called to fulfill other duties, as the need arose. For this reason, I propose that the Bar-Iared be entrusted with this charge of mining iron for our army.”

  One of the Bar-Iared judges—the wisest and oldest amongst them—rose up from his seat, and addressed the assembly:

  “Honourable brethren: We, the Bar-Iared, will maintain our word. We said we will aid in our communal efforts, and so we shall. Yet, as you know, our houses lie at the top of the very same Hill you seek to hollow. We must ask: Would these mines hinder the Hill in any way?”

  Talizima nodded and scratched his beard thoughtfully:

  “This is a good question. We do know—for such was told to us by Nod—the iron is buried very deep inside the Hill’s core, as a hard seed hemmed inside a fruit’s pulp. We must peel away the fruit, layer by layer, until we reach the core so desirable to us. However, do not fret. Skillotz has already proposed—and I agree wholeheartedly—that we can build new houses for the Bar-Iared here, at the bottom of the Hill. We promise you, they will be good houses, better than the ones you now have.”

  “We receive your offer with gratitude,” a second Bar-Iared judge replied. “But we cannot accept it. The summit is more than the foundation of our homes. It is a sacred place, as it was for our fathers and their fathers. When our forebears came from the north in search of a new place to settle, Horeb bid us set our roots there, at the hilltop. Horeb entrusted us with the holy task of watching over the gryphons roosting over yonder, for he said—as an Oracle given to him—that the gryphons guard a precious treasure, and in the day it is plundered, there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. So sacred was this task and this soil, we built our Temple dedicated to Horeb on it—a temple which, may I remind you, Malvizio the priest, keeps locked while he resides here, with you, at Bar-Kain.”

  The eldest of the Bar-Iared judges rushed to soften these words, as he saw the Bar-Kain’s disgust that the Bar-Iared would refuse yet another task:

  “Thebel is vast. The south remains largely unexplored. Many places still bear no house for the logizkal, or temples for the sylphs. Surely Nod, who found iron inside the Hill’s core, will also find other sources of ore. Tell us to mine there, and so we shall.”

  Skillotz, who had undigested bile against the Bar-Iared since they refused to be conscripted, could not contain it any longer. Sharply, he rose from his seat. For the first time, he seemed like an actual giant, as he towered over all the others.

  “What fooltalk be this? Why would we search for iron far yonder, who knows where, when ore springs copiously at our doorsteps?”

  Talizima, the councilor, said nothing. He was still astonished. He had not considered the question of the Hill’s despoilment. He had assumed the Bar-Iared’s support. Yet, as he remained silent, his son’s words were the words churning inside his mind. As for Skillotz, having already spilt some of his bile, released the rest of it as well:

  “And are we to relinquish this iron… for what?! Horeb and all the other stars have abandoned us! Betrayed us, even! For Horeb, we are naught but pawns to be disposed of, for Aigonz so ordained! Furthermore, Horeb is your patron-star, not ours! The Bar-Kain have no temple, nor star! Why should we be hindered by your superstitions, which are yours alone?”

  So it happened, the youngest of the Bar-Iared judges also rose as thunder, for his blood now boiled as much as Skillotz’s:

  “Superstition? Horeb, a superstition? Let it be known to you that if Horeb had not bid us settle here, then you would not be here as well to claim the Hill or its precious iron! How many times did our forebears help your forebears? Do not forget when…”

  “Friends, friends,” Talizima intervened. “Fruitless is this dispute. Let us put the matter to vote, as we always do. And may your vote be guided by the common good, not just the good of some.” When he mentioned the “common good,” Talizima was trying to persuade the Bar-Iared to change their vote, but they interpreted these words in the opposite way.

  The three Bar-Kain voted for mining the Hill, whereas the three Bar-Iared voted against. An understanding could not be reached. Only another vote could untie the tally. They would have to wait for the seventh judge, the absent Kolinzio. Talizima adjourned the session, convinced as he was that Kolinzio would vote as he wished, since he also hailed from Bar-Kain as well.

  But the days passed, as Kolinzio tarried; and Skillotz, growing impatient, went to his father and said:

  “See how the Bar-Iared refused to fight, and now refuse to mine? All they have is excuses! Certainly, they must be on Ophir’s side, or the iperborin’s. If you think they will stop at their refusals, you are ill-advised indeed! They will do more than that! They will sabotage our efforts! They will spy on us! They will wage war against our rear as we do battle in the frontlines!” He so spake because of the bile he harboured against them in his heart. His words, however, resonated with Talizima’s own thoughts, for he was most disillusioned with the Bar-Iared. Talizima also feared the failure of this endeavour. The survival of his people was at stake! And so, Skillotz’s bile infected his father’s soul, from his ears to his entrails. Talizima hardened his heart against the hilltop folk.

  Then Skillotz instigated the Bar-Kain to take shovels and begin digging underhill, even without the Bar-Iared’s aid or consent. And even as the Bar-Iared did not agree to this, they also did not try to put a stop to it, for fear of reprisals. Rather, they wagered their hopes on Kolinzio’s vote, for they trusted his judgment.

  ***

  As the legendary weapons were cooling in the forges, as the foundations of Lamech were being laid, and as the iron mines were being dug, Ararat completed one of her cycles around the heavens. The time had come for the Council to be assembled once more at Melchy-Zedek.

  Yet, when the Council came to order, a complete reversal had taken place: The southerners, who till then had so insistently fought for swiftness and decisiveness, were now sowing confusion and causing all kinds of delay. Truly, the southerners had not renounced their hostility towards the crizia, or Ophir.
Their spirits were still inflamed against both princess and city, and they did not hide their displeasure. But they also did not allow any decision to leave the chamber.

  And so it would happen, when the northerners petitioned the Council to decide in favour of the crizia, the southerners would request more time for discernment, for they distrusted Inimois. And when the northerners would suggest that the Council would consult with the Higher Sylphs, the southerners would request more time for discernment, for they distrusted the sylphs. And when the northerners would agree to send a contingent of theirs to keep Ophir under surveillance, the southerners would once more request more time for discernment, for they distrusted their brethren.

  Three Councils came and went, and no decision came. And Bilidio felt an increase in his distress as time went on.

  So it came to pass, twelve moons after Nod’s fall, the skies of Enoch were shaded by uninvited and unexpected hippogriff wings, hailing from the north. The pontiff had sent a few northern scouts to visit the southern lands. And as the enochin saw northern wings hovering over them, so the melchin saw what had happened at southern grounds during the year that had passed.

  Here is what they saw: the establishing of the foundries; the scaffoldings sprawling uphill; the black and bottomless mouths of the mines; and Lamech sprouting in the horizon. Here is what they heard: the persistent picking of the pickaxes, the constant clashing of the swords, the relentless grunts of the miners, and the ceaseless shouting of the sergeants. Here is what they smelled: the bitter odour of dust, and ash, and sweat. And here is what they felt: an indescribable feeling inside their guts, a sense of nausea, of scandal, repulsion, fear, and betrayal.

  What they saw, indeed, was war in gestation.

  And as they saw, and heard, and tasted, and felt, they promptly turned back to Melchy-Zedek to report on all these things.

  A few days later, the melchin hippogriffs returned. This time they brought no onlookers, but rather the pontiff himself. Neither did they come in secret, but openly, landing before the Bar-Kain’s eyes.

  There was much commotion in the village, as the enochin ran over each other to summon Talizima, their most reverend councilor. One could not understand whether their haste was due to urgency, or as a way to elude the pontiff’s reproaching gaze. If the latter, in vain did they hurry, for there is no way to hide a whole city inside a city, and the whole city was filled with signs of their past actions.

  As for Talizima, he did not seem to hesitate or fear. When told of this visit, he did not even break a breath or blink an eye. Long had he expected it, even if it came unannounced. He expected it as one expects the sunrise at sunrise, or old age at the end of life. If anything, he wondered at how long this visitor took to pay his visit.

  Slowly he rose from his seat, whence he surveyed the labours and works of his town. Slowly he moved towards the gates of Bar-Kain. And slowly the enochin followed him, hiding behind his back, as if Talizima could cover them all, or as if the councilor could protect them from the ire of a pontiff.

  “Hail, oh venerable pontiff. I see you.”

  “Hail, Talizima, councilor of Enoch. I see you too. And I see all your town as well, wriggling in a frenzy, as if you were upturning the very bowels of the earth! Why do you defile Mizar’s domains so? You spoke of none of this during the last Council!”

  “My dearest Bilidio… we have no duty to inform you of everything we do in our town. The Council has no power or jurisdiction over us. Quite the contrary, as the word says, the Council counsels. There, at the Council, we are all equals, and my village is no more, nor less, than Melchy-Zedek your city.”

  “So it is. However, these plans of yours may involve more than your village. If the consequences of your actions may ripple throughout Thebel, then it would show good faith on your part to inform us of them. We may have a word to say about that.”

  “So it is, indeed; and so I spake when Nod gave her witness at the Council. If the consequences of your decisions can affect Enoch and the southern cities, we may have a word to say about that.”

  “What say you? Did you not speak freely at the Council? Were you not heard?”

  “I spake, but was not heard. What is the point of speaking, if our words fall on deaf ears, or rather deaf minds? Can we truly be heard if we have never counted a pontiff amongst our own? Do we really have a word to say, or is that a mere formality?”

  “I hear you. You mentioned Nod’s witness. It seems our greatest offense was deciding against your opinion at that time. But what has that to do with what I see unfolding before my eyes? Have you decided to take this matter into your own hands?”

  Talizima realized the fire in his blood had barely overflowed out of his mouth. He should mind his tongue, lest he expose himself. He should dam the blazing torrent of his anger, before he would imperil his purpose. He sighed, swallowed all the words he wanted to say, and opened a fake smile with a fake shrug:

  “A mere urban renewal, nothing more.”

  “Be that as it may, with the tensions growing inside the Council, I still think you should have told us. What is this all about? What is your purpose? Why now?”

  Talizima’s dam of false indifference began to crack; yet he still sought to dissemble before the pontiff.

  “What ill suspicions are these amongst brethren, amongst sister-cities?” answered Talizima. “Are we to be considered criminals until proven otherwise? Till when will the iperborin subject us to such ignominious treatment?”

  “I am sorry. I did not mean to mistreat you. Yet you belong to the Republic. I speak not an obligation, only a fraternal request…”

  At that moment, the dam collapsed. Not because of the fury of the pontiff’s words, but because of the lack of it. Fraternal, he said? How dare he? How dare he, after abandoning the southerners to their fate? The enochin councilor thus did unmask himself:

  “Your fraternal request does not interest us in the least. As your fraternity does not interest us as well. And neither does the Republic. Go and say this to your Council, which is not mine anymore: Henceforth there is not one republic, but two. The southerners have so decided: They will form a league of their own. A league defending their interests, and none others. A league not filled with hypocrisy, calling us equals for some matters whilst considering us unequal on others. Let you decide about the crizia according to your wits, and act about it as you will. We, on our end, shall do the same.”

  A blush of emotion surfaced on Bilidio’s cheeks, and went up his heart and out of his eyes in the form of a tear. Still, the pontiff contained himself. He bowed before Talizima and proclaimed:

  “I shall relay your message to my Council, oh pontiff of a yet-unnamed republic.”

  “You may call it: League of Nephil. Go, then, with my best wishes.” And there was much disdain poisoning this farewell.

  Bilidio took his hippogriff and flew away. But no wingspan could carry the weight over his heart. He did not rush north to relay Talizima’s message to the Council, as first intended. Rather, he pointed his steed’s snout towards the east—towards Ophir.

  ***

  Atop her watchtower, the Sphinx of the Lance set her menacing gaze upon Bilidio, as he neared Ophir. But she did not budge an inch, for she read his heart and found naught but good will. Neither did the Sphinx of the Sword, her sister, open her eyes. Yet the pontiff’s flight spurred another kind of motion: The sentinels at the ramparts scurried to call to one another, and released messenger swans to warn the crizia of such an important guest. In vain did they labour, however, for swans and pontifical hippogriff alike reached the Sym-Bolon’s summit at almost the same moment.

  “Cast open these gates!” yelled Bilidio at the unsuspecting guards at the palace door. “I, the Pontiff of the Republic, knock at your door! Bring me to the princess, for the matter is most urgent!”

  The guards both inside and outside obeyed, tripping over each other and over their own hastiness. But Bilidio would not even await for the gates to fully open. As soon
as he was able, he crossed them and entered the palace. Then he ran alongside the guards and even before them, for they were too slow to fulfill their escort mission, and him too eager.

  As soon as the pontiff crossed the throne room’s threshold, the crizia’s eyes were as open as the gates of her palace. Her pontiff’s breathlessness took her aback. So did his whole visit, for that matter! What was he doing there, and not at his pontifical household, in the far, far north? She would not wait for Bilidio to answer this question. She rose from her throne and rushed to his feet. She sensed the matter was most grave.

  “Hail, oh venerable pontiff! I see you! What brings you hither, to my humble principality? I am sure you have not requested for an audience, for I would remember so! Pray tell me, wherefore is your countenance so perturbed, for it perturbs me also? Speak, I beseech you! Do not delay your answers by stuttering! Do you not see your delay wounds my soul more than any tidings you might bear?”

  How little was her stature, compared with the pontiff’s! Prostrated as she was, even more! Yet even so there was a likeness between them, clad as they were in their white linen tunics. The princess’ smallness moved Bilidio’s heart deeply, and touched the core of his being! Who could wish ill on such a tiny, fragile, gracious being?

  “Oh, my most beloved crizia! You would not say such things if you knew the tidings I bear! Rather, you would prefer to remain in blessed ignorance, even if you felt danger lurking beside your domain’s walls, or heard the trembling in my voice! I say this not to delay further, and so extend your anguish, but to prepare you! Come, please! Sit at your throne, ere I speak!”

  So she did, even if she could not stay still on her throne for long. In truth, not even the pontiff himself could stay still, as he spiraled around the hall while he spake:

  “There are things concerning your state which I hid from you, for the Council swore us to secrecy. After what I learned today, however, I feel free to speak to you once more. Yet this is no excuse for what I did, and for that I must beg your forgiveness now, and tomorrow, and overmorrow, till the end of the world!”