Storms Over Open Fields

by G. Howell

  “Of course there was intense diplomatic shuffling as delegates tried to ascertain what information other nations had received. There was trading between some of the delegates; between some of the others there was suspicions and accusations were made. Relations between more than a few lands became strained as bribes and espionage attempts were made. The most alarming incident, however, was the appearance of weapons.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face and frantically looked around, on the verge of protesting, of saying how that information had been stolen from me without my knowledge. Rris I knew were all staring back at me. Shyia’s head moved, slightly, fractionally, in a scarcely discernable shake. It was a gesture that nobody in that room save myself would recognize. I froze and then choked the words back down. I’d promised. It might’ve been a stupid thing to do, but I’d done it. Now I was going to see if it was a dumb a move as it’d seemed.

  “With the gift of [hindsight] we can suppose it was inevitable, but at the time events were unfolding so fast that we couldn’t maintain a grasp on them. By the time we’d received reports of an incident, they were already obsolete. This has been a problem before, but never like this. Never have we had so many influential developments appearing so quickly, one after another. By the time we started investigating the ramifications of one, more were already being [something] and the news of the appearance of new weapons came from an unexpected quarter.

  “The Guild hall in Red Leaves sent an urgent missive reporting that local government facilities had been attacked by extremists using new sorts of weapons: firearms that were repeating and highly accurate. There were casualties. The Bluebetter government kept these facts hidden from other lands for a while; calling on confidential Mediator aid from the Guild while they carried out their own investigations.

  “We honored their request and kept our investigations discreet. Mediator agents tracked the source to a smuggling operation that we’d been unaware of. Not on that level at any rate. They’d become aware of the Outsider after the affair at Westwater. They’d used high-level sources in Shattered Water, at great expense, in order to acquire weapons that’d been developed from knowledge the Outsider had brought.

  “This organization was infiltrated and undone, but other lands were learning what had happened. The ramifications of that are still unfolding, but there have been accusations and allegations leveled, threatened boycotts, sanctions and embargoes against and by Land of Water and others. Guild halls are reporting concern over the changes in mood and uneasiness everywhere, especially with the developments that continue in Shattered Water.

  “More weapons are being produced, that is common knowledge. All lands know that Land of Water military forces are being equipped with new, highly accurate firearms and other equipment. We’ve been informed that there has been talk in Shattered Water of forming a standing army, as opposed to the current guard. There are also changes in tactics and doctrine being undertaken, with new training and organizational reshuffles throughout the military. These are certainly matters of concern, but I believe that these disruptions are only the first snowflakes in the avalanche of disruption this outsider will bring.”

  I looked around the rotunda, from one impassive feline countenance to the next, trying to find some flicker of emotion or feeling that I could use to judge their reaction to this. But they were all like nightmarish masks, regarding me calmly while at the same time they accused me. What he was telling them was heading uncomfortably in the direction of what Jaesith had told me, of what I’d started to piece together by myself. It was looking more and more like I might’ve been right on the money.

  And the worst of it was, those accusations, the way he was telling it, were true. It wasn’t fabricated; it wasn’t taken out of context; it had happened like that. The only fact that had been omitted was that I’d never had a great deal of say in any of those events. Would that even have mattered?

  “Most disturbing,” he was saying, “is the fact that people will not only accept these changes, they will actively want them; these new innovations that promise wealth, convenience, faster and easier ways. It’s already begun with the engines and tools and implements introduced in Shattered Water. There are governments and companies and Guilds and individuals scrabbling over one another to acquire these advantages. The ramifications are not something they wish to dwell on.

  “These changes will [something] themselves every corner of industry and civilian life; A flood of new ideas which will seep in and edge out current skills and lives. Lifestyles and livelihoods that’ve existed for as long as can be remember will be rendered redundant as crafts are replaced by factories, workers by machines.

  “Already in Shattered Water there are small cooperatives and individuals – craftsmen, laborers, workers - finding that their skills are becoming surplus to requirements. We heard that there are workshops being established that produce nothing but fine mugs and plates, all identical, in huge numbers and selling them at preposterously cheap prices. Craftsmen who spend hours producing one item are incapable of matching the prices and their products are simply not selling. They’re struggling to feed themselves. There are the machines for milling and weaving; machines that can reap entire harvests, doing work that would usually take dozens of laborers weeks in a matter of days. What then happens to those workers? To the holdings and small towns that rely upon that seasonal work for their very existence?

  “The steam vessel that was destroyed in the lake exemplifies our concerns. It’s fast, propelled by machinery with a crew of fewer than a dozen. It’s not reliant upon the weather; it doesn’t require favorable winds to move. It also doesn’t require experienced sailors and their skills, nor the sailmakers, nor the rope mills, provisioners or all the attendant industries that support them. Existing sail lines will have to adopt this new technology to compete and only the largest will be able to do this: all the smaller cooperatives and single-hold vessels will be driven to ruin.

  “Proposed rail links with new engines will do the same to land transport. Carters and various transport guilds may be initiating these experiments, but we expect further problems when they discover that the new routes will make their old one, and the people who ply them, obsolete.”

  He paused then, looking down at the notes on his desk before continuing. He never raised his voice, just kept going in that same clear, matter-of-fact way.

  “We foresee this dissatisfaction building upon itself. To date there has been only vocal dissatisfaction, but this will build to active sabotage attempts and violence and from there to civil unrest. There will be swings in the balances and relationships between nations. Trade patterns will be disrupted as new farming ideas produce surpluses appear in districts where previously food was imported. New weapons will put excessive power into the hands of individuals and small groups. Old disputes might be rekindled as those involved feel they have a new way to resolve them.”

  Now he ducked his head again, just momentarily.

  “Outright war is not unlikely,” he said quietly. “And the continued existence of the Guild itself will certainly come into question, especially if the events of the past few days are made publicly known.”

  Scattered rays of light streamed down from the windows high above, tinted and filtered from passing through the panes and slivers of stained glass. Specks of dust drifted randomly in those rays, flitting in invisible draughts and air currents. Below, the semicircle of Rris sat like motionless furry Buddhas in random patches of light, regarding the Mediator Lord without visible emotion. I imagine I was looking just as emotionless, but for other reasons: I was feeling utterly numb as I listened to the mediator lord listing his case before the Tribunal.

  “This outsider did what hasn’t been done in living memory: it fractured the Guild. A woman whom I held in high esteem found [temptation] enough in his presence to break oaths. She believed that what she was doing was the right cour
se; she believed strongly it was a course that had to be taken if the Guild was to survive. It was not the right course. It was something of which I could never approve, and she knew that. She knew that and would never have attempted such a maneuver if she hadn’t seen an option that had never been available before. The repercussions of those actions are still [something] through the Guild; a disruption that could shatter the charter and the Guild’s very reason for existence.

  “If a Mediator with a lifetime of steadfast service could be led onto such a course by the mere appearance of such a creature, then one has to ask oneself how will those of less sturdy character fare? How will those of a more ruthless and greedy disposition fare? She was capable; she was respected and competent, and yet her actions cleaved the very heart of this Guild.”

  He paused for a few breaths, looking at me again before resuming.

  “Finally, there is an aspect to his presence that has not been explored or, I believe, even seriously considered. That is the effect of people knowing that everything they strive to learn has already been done, that the answers are already there for them. This could lead them to a decline in the efforts of our own scholars. They may see it as easier to acquire the work done by another creature instead of seeking for the answers themselves. It could reduce us to expecting hand downs from another race, and then when they can no longer provide for us, we will find ourselves unable to stand on our own.”

  He turned to the tribunal. “Weighers,” he said and looked around the space, from Shyia and his associates to the spectators, “Honored folk, I tell you all that this outsider is not something we can suffer in our house. It is a disruption, a force that can do nothing but cause harm. It may seem benign; it may seem hapless and even [something] at times, but it is dangerous. It is a threat to everything we are. I urge that it be destroyed. If not executed then isolated or rendered to a state where it cannot cause harm.”

  “What?!” I blurted, loud enough in my shock to raise echoes from the ends of the hall.

  “Mikah!”

  “You...” I turned from one desk to another. I was shaking, trembling hard enough that I had to clench my hands into fists, “You are serious about this?!”

  “Mikah!” Shyia was baring teeth slightly and over to the side the guards were stepping forward. Escheri hurried ahead, her tail lashing. “Mikah, you gave your word.”

  “But...”

  “Mikah!” she snarled with teeth openly bared and ears flattened and I recoiled, just as shocked.

  “You assured us it would behave,” one of the five Tribunal members said to Shyia.

  “Apologies, sir” Escheri interjected hastily while the guards loomed behind her. “He’s quite ignorant of some things.”

  “Huhn, after what ah Richtkah just told us, that is remarkable,” one of the others said, loudly enough for me to hear. There were twitched from a couple of the others but the chairwoman threw him a cold look and he waved a shrug. She glared back at me. “Will he be quiet?”

  Escheri glanced at me and I hung my head. “He will,” she said.

  “Ah Richtkah,” do you wish to continue?”

  “I was nearly done, and I think that my point about its disruptive abilities was borne out,” he observed. “I do have to reiterate that it will do that. It’s been made abundantly clear that it doesn’t think normally or perhaps even sanely; it won’t do what’s considered normal or proper and will – perhaps inadvertently – spill the kettle. It’s simply a matter of time. I stand by my urgent recommendation. That is all.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the spokeswoman said as he seated himself on his cushion again. And then she looked around the tables and at me. “We’ll take this opportunity to recess for two hours and then continue with the prosecution’s case. Constable, you might want to control your charge a little better or he will be spending the rest of the proceedings in the holding cells.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Escheri replied, and then as the other Mediators filed out, she glared at me.

  ------v------

  In the small, stone antechamber I sat myself down where they told me: in a corner, on a worn cushion leaking stuffing from burst seams. On the other side of the room, lit by a slant of light from a narrow window, Escheri busied herself at a sideboard whose shelves were well stocked with bottles: red and greens and blue glass ranked alongside clay and metal containers of varying shapes and sizes. Metal and glass clinked and rattled. The guards stood at the door, watching me.

  Liquid gurgled for a second, then stopped. Glass clinked as a stopper was put back into a bottle. Finally Escheri said, “That was not good.”

  I didn’t answer. I was still shaking.

  “You had a reason for that outburst?”

  I raised my head. She was standing, regarding me, holding a broad goblet before her in both hands. “That outburst,” she repeated. “Why’d you do it? You said you’d behave.”

  I swallowed back a retort and sighed. “He was talking abut executing me for something I... I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. And what did he mean about that… that rendering me to a state where I can’t do any harm?”

  Escheri’s tail lashed. “Blinding you. Muting you. Something along those lines.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face again. “You’re not fucking serious,” I choked.

  “Quite serious,” she said.

  Once again I found myself struggling for words. A couple of years just didn’t give me the breadth and depth of immersion in the language to absorb all the nuances. “Do I... do I get a chance to defend myself? To say my own words?”

  She tipped her ears quizzically. “Whatever for?”

  “Wha... To... defend myself. To say my side of the story, of course.”

  Escheri’s muzzle wrinkled. “Your opinion would be biased, of course. Why would anyone put stock in what you say?”

  “But, haven’t I got the right to...” I stopped, mentally backpedaling. “I don’t have any rights?”

  “The right to be defended by a Mediator other Mediators know they can trust,” she said.

  “But what if they have... other ideas. Other... what is the word... plans?”

  “Then they wouldn’t be Mediators?” she replied and then her ears laid back. “You aren’t making sense. You don’t have Mediators where you come from, a? Accused individuals, you let them defend themselves?”

  I almost answered that before I realized I was staring down the barrel of a loaded question. It sounded innocuous enough, but there were hidden depths there. It didn’t take a genius to realize that telling someone that their profession could be disposed of wasn’t a good way of endearing themselves to that organization.

  “It... depends,” I sighed, thinking back to the highly specialized litigating machines that were lawyers, “on a lot of things. But where I was from people didn’t usually defend themselves, but they could. And they certainly were allowed to speak if they chose.”

  She snorted and flashed teeth for a second. “Red tie me, pure chaos. Well, here, it is considered [decorous?] to keep your silence before the tribunal unless you are asked a direct question.”

  “Even when they threaten to tear your tongue out?”

  “I’d have thought especially when they threaten to tear your tongue out,” she replied.

  I eyed her dubiously. “Was... that a joke?”

  “Apparently not,” Escheri said with another twitch of her ears, then huffed a hard exhalation and came over to thrust the goblet at me. “You should drink this.”

  She must’ve seen the trembling as I took it, holding it in both hands. The vessel was broader than any human cup, designed to allow a Rris to lap from it. What it contained wasn’t water but rather wine. That’s not all that surprising - in a culture primitive enough that the local well water might not be the cleanest, but I wasn’t
expecting Mediators to make that consideration for me. Trying to be careful not to slop the stuff over myself I took a sip and realized they hadn’t; the stuff was pretty close to vinegar. What was that? Mint in the wine?

  “Drink it,” she said. “You need something to calm you down.”

  Actually, I needed a stiff drink. And the alcohol content was about all that sorry excuse for wine had going for it. I took a sip from the goblet, made a face, took a stronger belt and felt that alcohol content burning the back of my throat. Escheri clicked back across the stone floor to the sideboard leant back against the cabinet.

  “That’s satisfactory?” she asked.

  “It’s terrible,” I said dully.

  “A. It is. Strong enough to take the edge off though, huh?”

  I grimaced again and turned the cup in my fingers, watching the liquid swirl in dark waves.

  “You have an hour,” she said presently. “Use it. Calm down. Eat something.”

  “Eat something,” I echoed. “I’m really not feeling very hungry right now.”

  “You’re still upset.”

  I felt my jaw gape, then I coughed a disbelieving laugh that wasn’t from humor: it was just a spasm of sheer disbelief. “You know, I think I might be. I find out that the people who’re supposed to be the good guys want to kill me. . . or at best cut parts of me off. Yes, I might be upset! And you know what the worst thing is? I was right, about all this I was right and nobody would tell me!”

  “No, we couldn’t.”