by JD Byrne
She shrugged. “There isn’t too much left to do, I guess. When you arrived I was writing about how I slipped out of the Grand Council building with the red notebook.”
“Excellent!” The old man’s eyes gleamed. “A little bit of adventure is a good thing. Do you think you could finish up in a week?”
All of a sudden, the thrill of working on a deadline returned to her. “A week? Yes, I can have a draft done in a week. Can I have another week to revise? Two weeks total?”
He nodded. “Two weeks will be fine. Although they have yet to see your red notebook, I have already assigned a group of my historians to begin working on the broader contextual parts of the book. Once they see the notebook itself, it will not take long to analyze it and graft them together.”
Strefer was so excited by the prospect, electrified after all this time waiting, that she couldn’t quite think what to ask next. “After everything is put together, how long will it take to have a final product?” she finally asked.
“In the normal course it takes months for a new book to be printed. The printers here work generally on a first come, first served basis, and they tend to have many projects in line at once. However, the council has the authority to jump to the head of the line, so to speak. The order this afternoon will make this book the printers’ first priority.”
Strefer smiled. “You can really do that?”
Gillem returned the smile. “We can. We rarely do, but we can. In my years on the council I have heard that far-reaching power is more likely to be welcomed, or at least not resisted, when it is used very selectively. There will be other writers who will be briefly upset, but that shall pass. So, to answer your question, once the text is finished it should be about another month before we can begin distribution.”
Strefer was impressed. Everything had clearly been thought through with care. “What else?” was the only thing she could ask.
Gillem looked into the crackling fire for a moment. “There is the issue of precisely what kind of publication this should be. The council is split between two options. The first is a softbound, cheaply printed volume like a pamphlet, something to keep the distribution costs down. Perhaps even allow it to be distributed freely.”
Strefer remembered her deal with Forlahn. “Or?”
“Or,” he said, landing on the word as if the first option was a mere formality, “the other option is to make it a quality hardbound book, sold at a reasonable price. There are arguments on both sides, of course.”
“Such as?”
“A free book would presumably reach a much wider audience. Social status would not be a barrier to learning about this information.”
“However,” she said, leading him on.
“However, free pamphlets are often dismissed as the works of cranks or unreliable rabble-rousers. Whatever audience it might find in the streets would be offset by the disdain with which the upper classes, those who might wield some authority, would view it. Plus, there is the sad fact that most Altrerians simply cannot read, at least well enough to make wading through a work like this worth their time. A regular book, with the assumed value of a product offered for sale, would, the argument goes, make a greater impact, even if it reaches fewer hands.”
She mulled over the options in her head, but was unable to come to a satisfactory conclusion. “What do you think?” she asked him. It was a five-member council, after all. It could not be divided equally.
“I would rather not say,” he answered. “The decision is yours. I will support it regardless.”
She tried to read his face, to figure out what he really thought. She would hate to disappoint the man after all he had done for her. But the more she thought about it, there was only one answer. “A regular book, I think. Sell it,” she said, then added, “but any profits that come of it are to go to Forlahn, not me.”
Gillem smiled at her. “I knew you would choose correctly.” After he let the comment settle, he said, “That leaves only one other matter to resolve. It need not be settled right this moment, but you should be thinking about what you will call this book.”
The question took her by surprise. She had never given thought to anything actually being published to worry about a title. But if it had the impact she hoped, the title would be linked with her for the rest of history. “I’ll have to give that some thought.”
He rose from the chair opposite her. “You do that. As I said, there is no real hurry on that score. Some title by the time the manuscript is finished would be sufficient. Now, since I have given you a deadline, I will leave you to your work.” He opened the door and began to walk out.
“First Councilor,” she said, stopping his progress. “Will this make a difference? Will it change things? Will anybody even care?”
He turned to face her. The kind, reassuring face he had worn to that point was gone, replaced by one of grim certainty. “It almost certainly will change things a great deal, young lady. What that change might be and whether it will be for good or ill, I do not know. We are servants of the truth, not of consequences. Good morning,” he said, turning and closing the door behind him.
~~~~~
The earth under Strefer’s feet felt more solid than before, somehow. She had spent so long up in the trees that she had actually forgotten what it felt like to stand on solid ground. By its nature, Oberton had a bit of sway and give to it that would unsettle the earthbound. Strefer thought of it as somewhat like being at sea, from the delicate give of the boardwalks underfoot to the subtle pitching of the room back and forth when a steady breeze rustled the leaves. She had not really thought about it until now and yet she found herself missing it already.
It turned out that the lift in which they rode up to Oberton was only one of several that dropped through the canopy to the forest floor. Two of them, located several hundred yards away, were designed specifically for cargo, not passengers. Wylph led the way through the dense underbrush, with Strefer and Forlahn following behind. They walked in silence, focused on the path that Wylph explained linked the various lift areas together. Strefer, as usual, could not see it. She focused on Wylph’s feet, paying particular attention when he placed one in front of the other in a tight single file.
Within minutes, they exploded into a clearing much like the one in which the lift had deposited them on. In fact, Strefer could not have argued convincingly that it was a different clearing at all. Then she saw the basket of another lift, orders of magnitude larger than the one in which they had been transported, settled on the ground.
It was filled with books. Hundreds of books. Her book, first editions of True History of the Neldathi Oppression, by Strefer Quants. Gillem had insisted that she retain full authorial credit, in spite of the considerable assistance provided by the Oberton historians. She had managed, over the weeks, to trim her own part of the story down and tighten up the narrative. The result was just over two hundred pages, more than half of which was a faithful reproduction, down to the odd spellings and word choice, of the red notebook she had taken from Alban’s library so long ago.
The clearing was soon a hub of activity. Gillem had prepared a distribution scheme, which he jokingly called a “plan of attack,” to get the book to the most people in the shortest amount of time. He had sent emissaries to a pair of neighboring towns to recruit horsemen. Oberton, he had explained, had no means to house or feed horses. That should have been obvious, but Strefer was forced to admit she had not given the matter much thought. Reflecting on her time there, she realized that she had not seen any large draft of herd animals in the city. Now she knew why.
The horsemen arrived, each with an additional horse aside from the one they rode. They were paired up with Obertonian escorts. Pairs of riders were sent off in every direction, each carrying a load of books. The plan called for focusing on the areas furthest from Oberton initially, including Tolenor, Innisport, Ventris, and Sermont. Those cities were either seats of power or way stations for travelers and traders. Word would spread
from there. Gillem admitted that he partly hoped that printers in those cities would print their own editions to help spread the word. Meanwhile, slower and more deliberate parties would set out on foot and horse for the other cities in the Arbor.
Strefer simply stood by and watched. Her role in the process was complete, at least for now. Once she had handed her draft over to the printers she found herself awash in free time. At first, she tried to play some part in the formatting and other technical exercises, but was forced to admit she knew nothing about such things. It was best that she stayed out of the way. The Guild was full of obsessive, overbearing writers who were intent on maintaining complete control over their work at all times, sometimes even after they landed in readers’ hands. Strefer’s newspaper experience, on the other hand, had taught her to live with the need to submit a story and simply let it go, moving on to the next assignment.
As the last pair of riders prepared to set off, Wylph walked over to her, haggard but with a pleased look on his face. “Have you been here the whole time? I assumed you would have gone back to the city.”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t have found my way back to the lift if I tried. Besides, it was fascinating to watch.”
He folded a notebook, in which he kept track of his charges, under his arm. “The horsemen really don’t know what they’re doing. The Obertonians know a little bit, but not much. They might read a copy of the book along the way. But I’m certain the horsemen have no idea what they are in for.”
Strefer tensed, thinking of those riders being the first people to bear the brunt of any backlash because of what she wrote. “I suppose if the price is right, they’ll put it out of their minds,” she said, rationalizing her guilt away.
“True,” Wylph agreed, without confidence.
“Do you really think there will be trouble?” Strefer asked, unable to shake her apprehension.
He shrugged. “Too hard to tell at this point. Certainly, the first few riders who reach the cities won’t have any problems. But once word begins to spread of what is in this book? The pair bound for Tolenor will be among the last to arrive. By the time they reach the city, who knows how much will have leaked out? Once a Sentinel gets a hold of your book I’m sure the contents will be beamed out all over Altreria.”
She considered the possibility and remembered how fast someone spread the word about her and Rurek. “I hope nothing happens to them. It’s not their fault, after all.”
“Not true,” Wylph said, turning to her. “Like it or not, our entire city has been thrown behind you, Strefer. You seem to think that all that might happen is your revelations are ignored. I don’t think it will work that way. People do not take kindly to having their world turned upside down. It doesn’t matter if it’s true. Some people just don’t want to know the truth. Those people will be as upset with us as they are with you.”
Stefer said nothing, letting the weight of the situation sink into her. Finally, she said, “How long do you think it will take before we know what kind of…reception…this will get?”
“Who knows?” Wylph said, very calm for his uncertainty. “All we can do is wait.” They watched until the last pair of riders was out of view. “That is all for now,” he said, turning to her. “Are you ready to go home?”
He meant Oberton, but that wasn’t home. Tolenor was her home, where her apartment, or what was left of it, was. Or the Guild house in Quantstown where she grew up. But not anymore. Her home, for now, was in the trees. Depending on how her book we received, it might be the last home she ever knew. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 30
If the Neldathi lands had a heart, it was the Hogarth Pass. Situated at the point where the Rothery Mountains meet the Mosley Range, multiple clans could make a claim to it. It was more valley than pass, but it was so narrow that it could be easily blocked.
That was why so much bloody history had occurred there. The pass had been the site of many bloody clashes among the Akan, Uzkaleyn, and Elein. Antrey found a Speaker of Time who even told a story of a time when the Kohar, who roam so much farther north, once tried to claim it. They failed, of course, and miserably, to hear the Speaker tell it.
The Hogarth Pass was also where the dream of a unified Neldathi people died more than a century ago. It was where Sirilo had come with his army after being smashed on the Plains of Terrell. Had Halbart been more familiar with the terrain, he surely would not have pursued the Neldathi into the pass. But he and his army had set upon them without mercy. That the Rising had been crushed in this place, one so well suited to a rugged defense, made it all the more bitter.
Putting aside all that history, Antrey found that the pass was very beautiful in the Neldathi spring. At the base of the mountains it was already warm enough that the winter snows had melted. The pass itself awoke as a rolling meadow that was just coming into bloom. Streams fed by the snowcaps on the mountains fed a staggering array of plant and animal life. Antrey knew it was the best place for what she had in mind.
Her party had been reduced to its most essential members. After the Battle on the Ice, and the associated mourning, she had sent all the warriors home, though not for long. They had a long struggle ahead of them and needed to see out the winter with their families and clans. Hirrek returned to the coast to fetch Ushan. Antrey looked forward to seeing the old matriarch, since so much had transpired after their last meeting.
Antrey had tried to send Naath home as well, or at least back to the Gentle Giant, but without success. She did not really understand what he saw in her, or this undertaking in which he had no real stake, but she welcomed his company. For all her talk of brotherhood and unity amongst the Neldathi, she would always be an outsider in their midst. Having Naath around gave her someone in a similar position she could commiserate with.
Antrey arrived at the pass about a month ahead of schedule with a few dozen others. The extra time allowed them more time to complete the project Antrey had set for them before the theks arrived. Using wood from the upslope forests around them, they began to construct something many Neldathi had never seen. A fixed, permanent structure, large and round. The walls were made of immense logs that left no doubt that this place was never meant to be broken down and relocated. Inside, long, elegantly curved wooden benches were arranged.
Antrey modeled the building after the Grand Council chamber in Tolenor. Whatever evil the Triumvirate had done to the Neldathi, it had been done with great unity and efficiency. From the reading she did in Alban’s library, Antrey knew that the Grand Council chamber had been designed to enhance the feeling of solidarity among the disparate Triumvirate members. It assured that no one nation could preside over the others. It forced the speaker into the crucible at the center of the room to face questions from all directions. It broke down hierarchies and helped the strongest ideas flourish.
When the building was finished, Antrey stood on the smooth wooden floor at the center of the room. Around her was a circle of eleven benches of dark, polished wood. Each was the same size and same height. Each had two more rows of smaller benches behind it. In this room, Antrey hoped, all the clans would have an equal voice. And a unified one.
~~~~~
The theks of each clan arrived over the course of a week. Unlike the original meeting at Port Jaray, Antrey had not tried to limit the size of the parties coming to this meeting. She thought the size of each group would give her some idea of her influence with the different clans, particularly the ones who stood against her in the Battle on the Ice. Some might come with dozens, others thousands. Hopefully no single clan would dwarf the others and create problems.
Antrey’s only requirement was that the theks themselves, rather than some delegate or underling, were present at a certain location at a certain time. One by one, they came. Ushan was one of the first to arrive, even though the Dost territory was among the farthest away from the Hogarth Pass. The time allowed them to catch up on all that had happened since Antrey
and her advisors left Ushan for Port Levin. A few days later, Antrey was cheered by the arrival of Yimir, who led the Dagan forces against her only a few months ago, in the entourage of Thek Treman of the Akan.
Much to Antrey’s relief, the parties of each of the clans were approximately the same size. They made camp in a loose circle around the new meeting hall. She visited each one and suggested, rather than ordered, that they should all move into the valley to the west of the pass, so that the clans could mingle together. That everyone did so, without any real cajoling or arm-twisting on her part, filled Antrey with great hope. She sent word to all the theks for them, along with two trusted advisors, to join her in the meeting hall on the third morning of their gathering.
Antrey awoke early that morning. She tried to eat a bit, but her stomach was having none of it, her nerves causing it to lurch and dance at random. Somewhere in the dark of night, as she lay in bed unable to sleep, it occurred to her that all that had come before had been easy, by comparison. This meeting was the point to which her path had led her. If she failed today, it would go no further. For the first time since the theks began assembling here, she began to panic about what might happen if the meeting ended in failure. Where would she go? What would she do? Could she return to the Dost and live out her days with them, endlessly traveling the circuit through their territory? Could she find a place in one of the Islander cities? Only one thing was certain in her mind. The only way Antrey would return to the land north of the Water Road was at the head of an army.
She shared a cup of weak tea with Naath to try and calm her nerves before going to the meeting hall. She stood outside, near the main entrance but not next to it, and watched the theks and their parties file in. Ushan arrived, as expected, with Hirrek and Kajtan in tow. To Antrey’s surprise, Goshen was also with them. He had no official part to play in the day’s discussion, which Antrey realized might have been an oversight. He parted company with the others and walked over to her.