by CK Collins
“Thank you.”
“One can never be too careful.”
“Right. Right.”
“Nothing has occurred to you . . . ?”
“No. I wish.”
“Well. If something does come to mind, that envelope contains a number to ring. You must promise to do so.”
“Definitely.”
“It may be that Hilm Hivaa will extend a hand. Perhaps offer a ‘bargain’ of some sort. You must know that an arrangement with them would be most unwise.”
“No, I know that.”
“Lovely. So nice to have had this time together.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate everything you’re doing to help.”
“Anything for a friend. Now then — are you to have a boy or a girl?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t found out.” She looks incredulous. “I guess, I don’t know . . . I just really like surprises.”
“Well,” she says. “I do anything to avoid them.”
21 March
* * *
Liashe, Masalay
“Brother, I want to apologise for that sarcastic remark I made.”
“Which sarcastic remark?”
“I was sarcastic underestimating Sule. I said that unless he’s Batman, we haven’t a chance.”
“Was it not Superman?”
“No, Batman.”
“I’m less familiar with him.”
“Okay . . .”
“You’re impressed with what he’s accomplished, then?”
“Very. Flooding their corridor at the Buckingham. And pre-booking the other rooms with vantage on Callie’s station. Right clever.”
“I do find myself grinning over that one.”
“And the traffic stop, it made the paper you know, two armed viyka arrested.”
“But the best bit, you must agree . . .”
“No doubt, though it’s worrisome that S-51 can be duped so easily.”
“Well, Sule has rare skills in that arena.”
“Feeding them a Hilm Hivaa intercept — and they swallow it whole.”
“That additional surveillance will complicate things for him as well as Hilm Hivaa. But a worthy tradeoff.”
“No, I agree, I do. Whatever can be done to complicate their routines, muck up their calculations. I just can’t believe we wound up getting her a lunch with the PM. What do you think they talked about? Could Sule have not managed to put a device on her?”
“Our dear Callie, she deserves more privacy.”
“This is the time to make contact, Brother. We’ll not have better opportunity.”
“You may be———”
A knock at the door: three unhurried raps, the knock of someone who is expected.
“I don’t know,” says Carodai, answering the question in Tchori’s face.
“Should I answer?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Ruing that their security precautions haven’t included installation of a peephole, Tchori navigates the stacks of books to open the door.
“Hello,” he says.
Her brain slow to catch up with her eyes, she stares.
“I wonder if I might have a word with your Brother Carodai.”
“It’s fine, child,” says Brother from his chair. “Let him in.”
She steps aside to let Sidaarik pass. “Sorry to come unannounced.”
“Not at all, Aarum.”
She shuts it with a shiver, imagining the viyka who are no doubt watching.
“No need to get up, Charles. I know you’ve had your difficulties.”
“Too kind. But I should have the manners to introduce you to my novice. Tchori Vidaayit, Aarum Sidaarik.”
“A pleasure,” Sidaarik says with a bow.
It’s nauseating but she returns the bow. Through gritted teeth: “Would you care for me to leave you two, Brother?”
“Oh Charles, do let her stay.”
“Entirely your choice, Tchori.”
“I’ll stay of course.”
“She’s got vim, Charles. Vim and vigour. You’ve done well.”
“Brother — can I bring you something?”
“Care for some tea, Aarum?”
“Have you chamomile?”
“Tchori, have we chamomile?”
“No, Brother, no chamomile.” There is chamomile, but damned if she’ll cater to the fancies of Aarum Sidaarik. Rank stuff anyway, not truly tea.
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy anything you have.”
Carodai nods for her to proceed and she steps into the efficiency. Brother invites Sidaarik to sit and then she misses half a minute’s conversation whilst filling the kettle.
“Have you had any difficulty reaching us, Aarum?”
“Nothing to mention.”
“Did you not pledge never to return? Until it was ‘liberated.’”
“More an aspiration than a promise. And these are exceptional circumstances.”
“Are they?”
“Yes, I’ve come to discuss our mutual friend.”
“Who might that be?”
“I hadn’t expected coyness, Charles. Maybe I should drop in on the Bishop. Share all the exciting news.”
“Well, that would be entertaining.”
“I’ve got so many questions. Have you considered telling him the news, that’s one question.”
“For a moment or two.”
“But you’ve refrained.”
“I have.”
“At best he’d take you for demented. Worse would be if you somehow convinced him. He’d set all the Church machinery in motion, wouldn’t he? Make a right mess of everything. I’ve studied him — he’s not entirely a fool, you know. But he’s enough of one.”
“I have only the highest respect for His Eminence.”
“Of course. Another question then . . .”
“Please.”
“I wonder if you’ll admit that I was correct? Those many years ago.”
“You were correct.”
“About Rith Idiiye. About the Godling.”
“I understood the question. Yes, you were correct, Aarum, and I was incorrect.”
“If I was correct about that, it might be that I’m correct about other things you’ve denied.”
“There is that saying about broken clocks. But I’m always open to persuasion, Aarum, you know that.”
“Wonderful, because I’ve come to persuade you.”
“And are you open to persuasion?”
Sidaarik chuckles. “Charles, I believe your novice has forgotten the kettle.”
Tchori turns to the burner, sizzling with the overflow of a violent boil. Flushing, she moves the kettle.
“Charles, tell me, I’m dying to know how you’ve reconciled this ‘development’ with your secularism?”
That coarse hills accent — sounding as if he were raised on an aarong or tea plantation — even his voice is dishonest. She pries the lid from the nearest tin.
“I’ll begin by disputing the premise of the question, Aarum. And haven’t I just said, in any case, that I’m open to persuasion? When new evidence appears, one adds it to the scale. If the scale tips to a new conclusion, so be it.”
“Perfectly open-minded, are you?”
“Ashma alone is perfect.”
“So you do believe in Ashma then? That wasn’t always evident. You remember that conversation we had with Viv, one of the first, in that flat her parents let for her? Such an incisive woman: She observed that I seemed to believe in God but not the Church and that you seemed to believe in the Church but not God.”
“I recall, yes.”
“How is she, by the way?”
“Very hale, as sharp as ever.”
“Stone-fixed against me?”
“Mountain-fixed, I’d say.”
“Please give her my regards in any case.”
“I’m curious, Aarum, have you a point? It’s lovely to see you, but . . .”
“Right enough. Brass tacks then?”
“If that’s how you’d like to put it.”
“Well, it’s not complicated. I don’t want us to be at odds. And I have those questions. For one, I’m very curious to know how you managed to find her. I’ll be happy to reciprocate, of course. I’ll even take the first step, show of good faith, and reveal that we have the father.”
“Yes, I had supposed that. How does he feel about the arrangement?”
“It was difficult at first. But like you, he’s very open minded. We’ve come to an understanding.”
“I see.”
“I’d love to introduce you. In fact, I’d love to develop a plan — right here, right now — for our co-operation, friend.”
“Co-operation?”
“Charles — we must preserve this child.”
“I quite agree.”
“We can’t let this blessing be squandered.”
“Further agreement.”
“Fine. Then our petty differences — we need to put them aside. We need to work together. Combine our strengths, yours and mine.”
“Have you strength, Aarum? Power. Yes, you have power. But is that the same as strength?”
Sidaarik smirks. “Always with the semantic distinctions.”
“The critical thinking, you mean? It is a habit.”
“You disapprove of me, very well. You think my methods are ugly. But, friend, at least I have methods. What have you done, actively, to serve Ashma? You think the Skythk dwells in libraries? You think it quivers at the sight of your pen collection?”
“If that’s meant to sting, you’ve missed the mark.”
“At least grant that I’ve attempted to confront the Skythk in a way that you’ve not. You’ll grant that I’ve wrestled while you’ve . . . reflected.”
“Aarum, you’re not wrestling the Skythk. You’re dancing with it. As near as I can tell, you define the evil as whatever is not you. A world full of thems who deserve only contempt. You’re not offended by evil — you just point at the things that offend you and call them evil. It’s a circular, self-serving moralism, and I don’t grant that it’s courageous. I contend the opposite.”
Tchori delivers Carodai’s cup and is tempted to kiss his head. “Thank you, dove.”
“You’re welcome, Brother.”
It’s all she can do to keep her hand steady as she sets down Sidaarik’s. “Many thanks, Miss Vidaayit.” He sips. “Very nice, not steeped too long.”
She sits on the stool by the efficiency and looks only at Carodai.
“Charles, you’ve always excelled at stating your views in elevated fashion. But what have you ever done to combat immorality? Not criticise it. Actually combat it. I’ve made mistakes, I admit. But at least I’ve taken chances. Real chances. Since the last time I saw you, I’ve created a movement. And you — you’ve collected books.”
“True, true. If I were serious about God, I would go impale a Karskan shepherd.”
“The man responsible for that has been made to recognise his error. And atone.”
“Perfect.”
“We’re both educators, Charles. You teach dead languages, whilst I teach action and moral discipline. The renewal of an oppressed race, it’s not dainty work.”
“You teach hate, Aarum. Let’s be plain about it. You thought you could set that one bomb, deliver that one malicious sermon, and then return to the realm of decency. But it was intoxicating, wasn’t it? The moral clarity. You don’t let them drink alcohol because you want them to be drunk on you. And to keep it going, you need to find new people and things to condemn. Hatred of Runais, hatred of Christianity, of Buddhism, of secularism, of democracy, of modernity — on and on and on. Without enemies to lean against, you can’t stand.”
Sidaarik surprises Tchori with a confidential smile. As if the two of them recognise the flaws in Carodai’s idealism. She looks away, hurt to see how exercised Brother has become — flushed and hands folded tightly to prevent them shaking — compared to the commanding cool of Sidaarik.
“Will you allow me to take another tack, friend?”
“Say what you will.”
“Will you grant that I care — very genuinely — about preserving the child?”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“And I’ll grant the same of you. So let’s dispense with the bickering then. Our disagreements are trivial next to the necessity of protecting the child. I’m sure you agree.”
“My disagreements with you are anything but trivial.”
“Come on, don’t be petulant. How many people do you have on the scene in Jaya? One? Two? Is it Sule by himself? We’ve accounted for everyone else in your retinue, but dear Sule seems to have gone missing.”
“I’ll not discuss other people.”
Sidaarik looks again at Tchori and a devious grin comes to his face. “Your novice, how much does she know about Sule? Such an interesting fellow. How much do you truly trust her?”
“Could we keep this discussion to you and me?”
“No. This discussion is about so much more than us. Whoever you have — he, they — the mischief has been quite clever. But that’s all it is, you realise, mischief? Brief annoyances. We’re adapting. Let me ask: how do you think that forlorn girl will react when beloved Rika appears on the doorstep? And introduces the good friends who’ve come to help.”
“Perhaps I have a thing up my sleeve too, Aarum.”
“Can’t we do this a different way? I don’t want to fight over her. There’s risk in that. Before you lose — and you will — join with me. Not for my sake, I don’t care what you think of me. For the child. For Ashma.”
“I’ve never thought of you as naïve, Aarum. But you must know that I’ll not allow the precious child to be raised by viyka. By a regime that preaches genocide. It’s madness, I’ll fight it to my dying moment.”
“And that moment is how far away? Your resources are what? Please — think of the long arc. Ashma has chosen this blighted moment to bless the world. If we squabble whilst the Skythk destroys that blessing, it will be an unforgivable sin. We can negotiate the details later. For now, right now — work with me.”
“Renounce it, Aarum, renounce it all. The violence and the hate, renounce it and I’ll join with you. I’ll bring the texts, I’ll bring the cash, I’ll bring whichever of my friends will come, and we’ll create something new. But I need to hear it right now: renunciation.”
“I’ll not betray my people.”
“Good — then stop leading them down the path of ruin. And it is the path of ruin, Aarum. Hatred and violence and resentment, they are the path of ruin.”
“No. Hilm Hivaa is the end of ruin. Hilm Hivaa is redemption.”
“Spare me.”
“You’d have him raised where, Charles? Jaya? Amidst casinos and tourists? Or does she get to abscond with him to where the buffalo roam? You’ll let him grow up in Tacoma? In Birmingham? In front of a television eating McDonald’s, reading Disney books and writing to Santa Claus?”
“Ever the extremes with you, Aarum. Can there be no balance, no middle ground?”
“And this magical balance will be achieved how? You’ll convince your Bishop and his jackals to put you in charge? Your mastery of the card catalogue will be sufficient to convert this silly, flimsy woman into a great teacher of Ashma? Your novice’s skill with tea and Google will keep the Skythk at bay?”
“It’s been lovely of you to drop in, Aarum. Unfortunately, I believe we’ve reached an impasse.”
“Foolishness is one thing, Charles. But arrogance — arrogance before God? I’ve a movement behind me. I’ve an army behind me. What do you have?”
“Subtlety of mind.”
“How nice. I’ll take the army.”
1 April
* * *
Jaya, Masalay
This humidity sucks. And there’s never a breeze, just this hot, hot sun.
The baby doesn’t like it either. Kicking like it’s already time to come out. Which it is not.