by JD Byrne
After a few more pages, the discussion turned to Neldathi religious beliefs. “Like the Altrerians before the old religion was set aside,” Rangold had written, “the Neldathi believe in a pantheon of different gods. Unlike the Altrerians, however, who once worshiped those gods as a group, the Neldathi believe that various gods are associated with each of the clans. In essence, each clan worships a god in return for it acting as a protector and bringing favor to the clan.”
All that was true, Antrey knew from her youth. She was surprised when she met Alban and learned about how most people in the Triumvirate had simply given up their beliefs in the gods more than fifty years before the Rising. Traces of the old gods remained, in local customs and habits, but almost no Altrerian seriously believed that the gods existed or that the Maker of Worlds created them all. The Neldathi, at least the ones Antrey had grown up with, were fervently faithful and certain that Alun, the goddess of the moon and protector of the Kohar, impacted their daily lives.
Antrey skipped over the next few pages, which laid out the relationship between the Neldathi gods and the clans. She stopped when she saw a blank page and then, turning it, saw the word “proposal” written across the top of a fresh page in all capital letters. Underneath, Rangold wrote, “The danger of another Neldathi uprising is born from the possibility that the eleven clans, or at least some significant number of them, will again unite and direct their violence against us. It is therefore the best hope for maintaining peace between the Triumvirate and the Neldathi that the clans be prevented from uniting. To do this, the Triumvirate must ensure that clans focus on the conflicts and rivalries between each other, thus making them unable or unwilling to cooperate and strike north.”
From reading Xevai’s History, Antrey knew that Sirilo’s greatest accomplishment had been to bring seven of the clans, including three of the largest ones, together for a common cause. He was able to overcome the natural animosity between clans, although no one north of the Water Road had ever discovered how he did it. That unification had occurred before any Altrerian had heard Sirilo’s name, much less recognized him as some kind of threat. To the extent that the Speakers of Time knew the story, Antrey had never heard it told during her time with her clan.
Antrey recognized that what Rangold had written up to that point was merely an observation, not a proposal for action. She read on, “therefore, it is proposed that agents of the Triumvirate, primarily members of the newly formed Sentinel corps, should infiltrate the Neldathi clans posing as peddlers, travelers, and such. As part of this infiltration, the Sentinels shall feed information to the various clans in order to spark conflicts between them, sewing long-term feuds. To do this, Sentinels will tie questions of insult, honor, and revenge to the various protector gods of the Neldathi. This should transform small and routine disputes into religious struggles that are easily explained, but not easily extinguished.”
When she reached the end of that page, Antrey sat back in the chair, stunned. She read it again, to ensure that she knew precisely what it said. The Triumvirate, in order to protect itself, would set the Neldathi clans against each other, arranging a series of civil wars tied to fabricated, or exaggerated, religious disputes.
“That’s very clever,” she said to herself, recognizing that the strategy made a certain degree of sense when divorced from any concerns about right and wrong. “Keep your enemies fighting each other. That way, they can’t fight you. If any one side prevails it still benefits you, since whoever is left after the conflict will be weakened in the long run.” But she could not set aside the anger building inside her at the implementation of such a plan. She sat back in the chair and stared out the large window across from the desk. “By creating conflict where there is none, you sacrifice the lives of your enemies for your own comfort.”
Antrey knew too well of the wars between the clans. Although she knew that the stereotype of the brutal Neldathi barbarians that populated many of Alban’s books was not accurate, she could not avoid the fact that the clans fought each other regularly. The battles were fierce and, in some cases, lasted for days. Even the brief raids were terrifying. Antrey remembered seeing members of her clan carried away in such raids, taken for who knows what purpose. She remembered how the Speakers told of horrible things that one clan did to another, in the name of the gods, and how the other clan would respond in kind. Most of all, she remembered that the death and violence of those battles visited not just the warriors, but the old and young, the weak and the ill. That those she saw brutalized did not think of her as one of them did not mean she had not been heartbroken by their fate and furious at those who had caused it.
But it was only a proposal, right? Surely the Grand Council would not agree to such a ruthless policy being carried out in its name. Antrey leaned forward and turned the page to a brief summary of the debates about the proposal. They shocked her. The speeches were peppered with references to the Neldathi “barbarians,” “savages,” and “animals.” One Council member argued that “these brutes are going to fight anyone they can find, why not let them fight each other? If I hold a spear which may slip and pierce someone by accident, should I not point it at my enemy rather than my friend?” No one spoke up against the proposal. Not a single member of the Grand Council argued against it. No brave soul stood up and argued that, whatever threat the Neldathi might legitimately pose, they were sentient beings who should not be lied to and set upon one another like dogs.
By the time the votes were taken, there was no doubt about the outcome. There, in the neat script in the small red leather book, it was recorded that each of the nine members of the Grand Council voted in favor of the proposal. All agreed to purchase their own security with Neldathi blood, the blood of women, children, the aged, and anyone else.
Antrey sat back in the chair and closed her eyes. Rather than weep, she sat and shook with fury, unable to get up. Clouds shifted outside and sunlight began to flow in from the balcony. It burned her face, but she did nothing to avoid it. She wanted to explode in a hundred different directions.
~~~~~
Antrey was so wrapped up in her anger that she did not notice Alban when he walked into the room. She did not hear him call her name. It was only a shout that jostled her back to awareness.
“Antrey!” he said. “Didn’t you hear me come in? What are you doing over there?” He walked over to the desk. “Ah, I see,” he said, with a pleasant tone as he saw the book on the table, “got lost reading. Well, I can’t complain about that, can I? So what are you…” his voice trailed off as he recognized what it was Antrey had been reading. He looked at her in stunned silence, as if he was unsure what to say.
“Is this why you locked these books away?” Antrey asked, anger dripping from every syllable.
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Antrey,” Alban said, maintaining his calm demeanor. He was evidently concerned, however, and was not very convincing in his ignorance. “Those books are first copies, originals. They are priceless historical artifacts, more than just books. Some are the only known copies in existence. They’re just too valuable to be left in the general library. They would…”
“Then why not make copies?” Antrey shot back, interrupting her mentor. She had rarely done something like that, and never out of shock and spite like she did now. “They could be set in a nice readable type. Run a few, perhaps a hundred? Then there would be no risk of their contents being lost. It would make it easier to share these priceless treasures with the rest of the land.” Antrey stood up and stared directly into his eyes. “Or is there something you don’t want to share with the rest of us, sir?” The indignation that was boiling within Antrey scared her, but there was no repressing it.
After a moment of tense silence, Alban tried to deflect the accusation. “That is a very good idea, Antrey. I fault myself for not thinking of it sooner. After this session of the Grand Council is over, perhaps…”
“That is a lie,” Antrey said, interrupting again. The
accusation jumped out of her, it seemed.
“What?”
“You’re lying to me, sir. I don’t think that you want what is in these books to leave this office. I think you’re saying what you think it will take to calm me so I will get back to work and forget about all this. I can’t do that, Alban. I will not do that.” She realized after saying it that addressing Alban by name was a line she had never crossed.
Alban stood and started to speak several times, tying to conjure a response. Finally, in frustration, he said, “What is it that you have read, Antrey? What do you think I would lie to you about?”
She walked out from behind the desk and stood directly in front of him. Although Alban was tall by Altrerian standards, Antrey’s Neldathi heritage made them just about even. There was something in her hand. “Why don’t you tell me, Alban? You’ve been reading it for days now, during breaks in the Council sessions. This isn’t the first time you left it out on the table, is it? Remember the opening day of the Council session? I left it alone then. It must have made some impact on you.”
Alban slumped and swallowed hard before answering. “It was Rangold’s summary, then, I take it,” he said in a deflated tone. “Is that what you were reading?”
“Yes, Alban!” Antrey yelled at him. “That is what I was reading!”
“I see,” Alban said, taking a step away from her. “Then I can understand how you might be so…upset.”
“Upset, Alban? Upset? I moved past upset well before you arrived,” Antrey shot back, stepping towards him to narrow the distance.
“Fine, fine,” Alban said, putting up his hands. “I understand that. But I also understand that you are smart enough to realize that, once you think about the context of what was going on…Look, I can loan you the copy I make and you can read it in detail. Maybe then…”
“Context?” Antrey asked. Without thinking about it, she erupted in laughter. “Context? What sort of context do you think might calm me down? Explain to me the context that would allow for someone to propose setting a people upon themselves. To encourage their slaughter at their own hands. And no one, not a single person, raised a voice against it. Not one.”
“It’s very complex, Antrey,” Alban said. “Those were different times. You must remember, the war had just…”
“The war had been won!” Antrey roared. “The Neldathi had been defeated. Sirilo was dead. And, of course, this mighty alliance had been formed. What threat was so great, what danger so immediate, that the only solution was such an underhanded ploy?”
“Now wait one minute,” Alban said, pointing a finger at Antrey. It looked like he was digging in. “I know you have a different view of the Neldathi than we do, much less than they did back then.”
“Because I am one of them!” she yelled. “Have you forgotten that?”
“Only a part of you,” Alban said, shaking his head. “Regardless of that, you can’t simply ignore what happened during the Rising. People all along the Water Road were killed, tortured, and chased from their homes for more than thirty years. Three decades! Think on that, Antrey. For longer than you have been in this world, families along the Water Road wondered when Sirilo and his army would come knocking at their doors. The Neldathi proved that they were…” He stopped abruptly, as is he realized he was about to say something he would regret.
“Proved they were what, Alban? Barbarians? Savages? Animals? Would it have been better if Sirilo and his war council had sat down in one place to make these plans and have someone write down every word that was said?” She pointed to the library in the next room over. “I’ve read almost every book in there, you know. In pieces, a few pages at a time. The history of Altreria is soaked in blood, just like the Neldathi. The Telebrians fought for years over that tiny stream of theirs, like it was the Water Road. The Arborians battled themselves up to the day the Triumvirate was founded. Even the Guilders, Alban, your own people, used to fight amongst themselves and with the cities in the Arbor. Why can your people come together in common cause, but mine can’t?”
“Antrey, you know how happy it makes me to see you so involved with books,” Alban said, adopting a fatherly tone, “but your grasp of history is rather shallow at this point. Bringing together the Guilders, the Arborians, and the Telebrians has brought out the best in all of us. It has shown that we can work together peacefully in common cause.”
“Can you actually hear yourself, Alban?” Antrey asked. “How can you make that argument, to me of all people, in the face of this enthusiastic embrace of bloodshed? I know you, Alban. You are such a good man. If not, I wouldn’t be here right now. Why would you, of all people, defend this?”
“Because it’s worked, damn you!” Alban shouted, all pretence of respect and calm shattered. “Because in the century since the Neldathi revolt was put down and this alliance was formed the Neldathi have stayed where they belong, in those horrible mountains south of the Water Road. Their nature is base. They seek only conflict and know only strife. Better those urges be turned on themselves than on us.”
Antrey staggered under the weight of his words, unable to respond for a moment. “Is that it, then, Alban? No matter how distasteful the means, so long as your people benefit, the suffering of others is all right? You care nothing for the Neldathi who dies, cold and alone in the falling snow, in the wake of some pointless battle?” Although she spoke calmly and chose her words with care, Antrey’s fury was still present and had begun to focus itself. Her initial reaction to the Triumvirate’s policy had been abstract, a rage against something done long ago by people long since dead. All that had changed, however, the more Alban talked. Now the anger in her was directed at the man in front of her. He was her employer, her mentor, and her savior. Still, she hated him for the secret he kept and the way he kept it.
As she had come around the desk, Antrey had somehow picked up the pikti, the ancient Sentinel fighting staff, that was normally propped in the corner of Alban’s office. It was so light that it felt like barely anything was there. The weight surprised her. She had held a sword once, a small one, and by comparison it was a clumsy weapon, a weight that hung on the end of her arm like a dead limb. Not the pikti. Even when she took it in both bands, it felt like a part of her, an extension of her will. As if it would do whatever she commanded. She held it out in front of her, hands about a foot apart.
“Antrey, put that down,” Alban said, raising his hands again. His tone had softened considerably since he, too, noticed the weapon in her hand. “You have no idea what that can do, and you’re liable to hurt yourself. Neither of us wants anyone to get hurt, right?” He started to back away from her slowly.
Without a word, she lunged at him, aiming the end of the pikti towards his midsection. Alban dodged the blow, just barely, and retreated towards the library. In an earlier life, Alban had been a nimble and powerful fighter, imbued with all the training that being a Sentinel brought. But that was years ago, decades ago. Combat skills had no place in the Grand Council chamber.
Antrey advanced slowly on Alban, matching his pace and driving him more towards the library and away from any other exit.
“Really, Antrey,” Alban said, starting to plead. “There is no need for this. Put the pikti down. We can talk about this some more.”
“What more is there to talk about?” Antrey said, taking a quick jab in his direction, just to throw him off balance. “If you take this away from me, I’ll be in irons before it hits the floor. I’ll be cast out of the compound to who knows where, if not simply executed for the trouble. Then you’ll go back into that chamber and keep justifying what your people have done. Just like you always have.”
Alban must have known she could not be convinced to stand down. Rather that keep talking, he tried to bolt quickly around her towards the corridor that led to the public entrance to the clerk’s office. With a well-placed slash of the pikti, Antrey took his right leg out from under him. He went crashing to the ground with a scream of pain.
“Antrey!�
�� Alban yelled, rolling onto his side and grabbing the lower part of his leg. “You broke my leg, you halfbreed bitch!”
That was the last thing Antrey heard. Without a second thought she grasped the pikti like a club, both hands together near one end, and brought it down with all the force she could muster on Alban’s head. The staff made contact with a sickening crack against his skull, which muffled Alban’s cry of pain. Antrey swung again and the pikti cracked bone again, this time penetrating several inches below the scalp. She did not pause to note the damage she was inflicting. Over and over again, Antrey brought the pikti down on Alban’s head, turning it into an unrecognizable pulpy mass of blood and brain.
After a dozen swings, maybe more, Antrey stopped. The enormity of what she had done struck her immediately. She saw what was left of Alban’s head and then noticed the blood trickling down onto the carpet from the end of the pikti. She flung the staff down, turned around, fell to her knees, and retched. What had she done? The man who saved her life, plucked her from the street and made her a part of his family was dead at her hand. She sat on the floor and stared at his lifeless body. As she drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, Antrey began to weep.
She was crying so hard that Antrey almost did not hear the voice. A voice from the public entrance, up the hall from where Alban’s body lay, called out, “Alban? Are you there, old friend? We were to meet this afternoon, remember? At the Hare? Is everything all right, Alban?”
Antrey did not recognize the voice at first, but that did not matter. She knew she needed to get away. She stood up and quickly looked around. She could not go out the public entrance, obviously. Nor could she flee into the Grand Council chamber, as the doors leading out from it would be locked. Getting out of the room would not be enough. She needed to flee the compound. The city.