The road went along a high ridge, which was apparently composed of unproductive earth, because no trees grew on it. That made it particularly well suited for the King’s private road, since it was impossible to hide on either side of the road. Such a consideration was moot now, but it still made Gardric sit up straight, as if in pride.
Taréz simply liked the view it afforded over his forest. The sea of deep green stretched seemingly forever; other ridges stuck out like light-green wave crests. Here and there, a hole in the canopy indicated a meadow roughly 100 feet below.
The coach turned off the ridge, and went steeply down along the left side into the forest. It wasn’t very far to the meadow where the camp had been established, and Gardric had appropriated one of the trees nearby as his. The coach drove directly into the hollow at the base of the tree, where it stopped and the driver dismounted. He opened the door for Taréz, and Gardric stood beyond. “This way, Sire,” he said, indicating a lift.
The prince followed his Chief and waited as the sackfuls of soil bore them up to the second canopy. There was only a narrow platform facing the camp below. It was also mounted on hinges, so that it could fold up and protect the occupants of the observation chamber. This was where the Prince stayed, looking out the windows at the scene below.
And what a scene it was: Never before had such a conglomeration of Vle formed on the earth itself. Groups formed around piles of household items, and stones and wood were scattered thoughout as some Vle worked to put them together into housing. A fence had been erected, and it already appeared as if its circumference wasn't large enough. There were still light Vle arriving as the Prince watched, prodded and directed to various parts. However, the Prince was not wholly pleased. “They had to walk?!”
“Of course, Sire. There are not enough wagons in all of Larmania for everyone.”
“Still, I think it would have been nice to have some sort of trade off. Some ride, some walk. Order it so.”
Something clouded the Chief’s expression. “Yes, Sire.”
Taréz looked below again. “The soldiers don’t seem too particularly polite.”
“Sire, they are but soldiers. Some do not know the art of holding one’s tongue, or one’s temper.”
“Then teach them, Gardric!”
“Yes, Sire.”
“There are Vle without a roof over their heads.”
“We don’t have enough wood here—”
“We’re not operating a prison, Gardric! I shouldn’t have to tell you these things! Make their stay as comfortable as possible! It’s bad enough that I’ll have to endure their gripes about being here— I don’t want to hear about them sleeping in cramped, cold conditions!”
“Yes, Sire.”
That pretty much covered the concerns he had. But it still bothered him that the concerns couldn’t be addressed instantly. “Is this the right thing to do?”
Gardric made a gesture that Taréz had never seem him do before: he shrugged. “It was your idea, Sire.”
“Yes, but is Father solving the striking problem? Will they go docilely back to their jobs when he lets them go?”
“Why let them go?”
“Because we can’t afford to simply house and feed them and go without banking and mining profits.”
“We have more than enough qualified replacements.” Sometimes Gardric was so good at missing the point. He paused, and then said, “You are a wise prince. Your father has taught you well.”
“Thank you, Gardric.” Taréz allowed a small smile, but it didn't stay long.
“Of course, Sire.”
But there was someone else he needed to see. “I’ll send for you when I want to go. Send for Yis. Dismissed.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Taréz turned his attention to the headache below as he waited. What would Yis say? Would it be possible to remain civil?
Would Yis ever forgive his King?
“You asked for me, Sire?”
Taréz turned to see Yis in the doorway. “Yes. How are things here?” Suddenly, Taréz realized that was really a stupid question.
Yis answered anyway. “Well, more and more Vle are coming faster than we can accomodate.”
“I noticed.”
“There has been enough food so far, and we have a number who have volunteered to cook for us.”
“Good. What do you think of the possibility of there being a self-contained economy in there? I’m sure they’ll appreciate having a somewhat meaningful existence.” Another faux pas there. Meaningful?
Yis, bless his heart, answered that question as calmly as ever. “I was thinking the same thing, Sire. We have talents that we’d rather not waste.”
Was there an implication there? Ouch. “Of course. Has there been any violence?”
“No. For the most part, we have obeyed without complaint. Any violence is on the soldiers’ part.”
Taréz noted Yis’ use of the pronoun ‘we.’ He was separating himself, now, grouping himself with his kinsmen. He would not have done that as chamberlain. “Good. You will notify me immediately of any emergency?”
“Of course, Sire.”
“Very well. Thank you for your report.”
Yis bowed. “Your Highness.” He then turned, and left.

A few days later, a request from the Zvaljan ambassador came by pigeon to the King, a request to meet the Prince on Larmanian-Zvaljan border in the eastern forest. This was a country that didn’t have much in relations with other countries; when they did, they chose carefully. So, Taréz knew they had something to say, something like a warning, perhaps.
The trip took four days by coach, across vast tracts of forest, carefully taking whatever unforested ridges were available. Finally, they arrived in Ubrine. They passed under towns, some with exquisite treeshaping, that only creaked in the wind— No rumble of a thousand Vle feet nor murmur of a thousand voices in any of them. It was a quiet, empty forest. In reflection, the Prince realized that perhaps this emptiness was good for nature.
The selected site was a meadow on the border, at a spot beyond the range of an arrow. Beyond rose the snow-covered mountains, the only place snow could ever be seen in Larmania. The meeting place could also be said to be among the coolest inhabeted ares of the country.
The Zvaljan ambassador rode out of the forest on his side, accompanied by only a few horsemen. Taréz selected a horse, and got on from the coach step. As was Zvaljan custom, the meeting would take place entirely on horseback. The Prince chose three soldiers, tit for tat, and headed out to the line. They both stopped and turned their horses to stand parallel with the line, which ran more straight here than anywhere else along their frontier.
“Your Highness,” said the ambassador. “I am Thove Gromas.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“My lord, the King of Zvalja, is most gratified that you agreed to meet me. It shows some... openness of thought.”
“My father taught me that when the ambassador of Zvalja asks for a meeting, it is best to go and listen well. We are surprised, however that the request was to meet with me and not the King himself.”
“It is generally known that Your Highness is, naturally, more involved in the kingdom than your father. Thus, the thought goes, perhaps Your Highness would be more open to our message.” “You have something to tell me?”
“I do. The kingdoms of the light Vle are concerned about recent events in your kingdom.”
“As am I, ambassador. There are events which made security a real concern. My father is attempting to deal with the problem.”
“I shall communicate that to my lord the king. He will undoubtedly ask, however, if there is not another, more... respectable solution to the problem.”
“If there is one, we have not yet found it. In the meantime, I place my honor on the promise that no Vle of light color will find his life in jeopardy.”
“That is indeed a promise of great significance. It would be well for you to keep it.”
“Of course. I sense, however, that you have an incentive for me to do so.”
“I do. There is talk of mounting a united offensive against your nation, in defense of light Vle. Plans are not firm, of course, but our military leaders are no longer afraid of the might of your army.”
“Indeed? That is most interesting. I highly doubt the Chief would be amused.”
“That would be understandable. He is regarded with respect in some circles, as you may know. However, as respectable as his skills are, your kingdom is not as secure as it once was. Of course, there is always a way out.”
“Yes, I know. Someday, we shall find that way out.”
“May I ask what may be a sensitive question?”
“You may, but I cannot guarantee an answer.”
“Very well. Your Highness is next in line for the throne. Do you know how you might handle this situation?”
“No, I do not. I find myself trapped in the same dilemma, though. Is there talk of killing my father?”
“None that I know of, but that is not to say it couldn’t happen. No, my point referred to his viewpoint regarding the light Vle population of the world. Some say Your Highness was... less than gracious to the Princess of A’peine at a ball.”
Taréz arched his brows. “Less than gracious? I have always endeavored to maintain perfect manners. Indeed, watchers may have noticed that I paid no attention to skin color at that dance.”
“I don’t know anything about what watchers may have seen, only what His Majesty the King of A’peine has reported.”
“In which case, he has a one sided view of the situation. If a slight was made, it was unintentional. Again, I stake my honor upon it.”
“You are very free with what you stake your honor upon, but I shall accept it. Nevertheless, know your enemy.”
“I acknowledge your warning.”
“Once again, I thank you for listening. It was most gracious of you.”
“I will not hesitate to listen again, should you ask it.”
“Fare well, Your Highness.”
“Fare well, Ambassador.”
The two men rode off in their separate ways. The ambassador had given Taréz much to think about, and think was all he did for the entire trip back to the palace.

Prince

Prince Taréz could not remember his father ever being nervous like he appeared to be now. Some nobles were on their way to the palace, to join him on the hunt the next morning. Not just any nobles: they were mostly southern and eastern nobles, those whose lands were most affected by the temporary eviction of the light Vle. He stood in a sitting room, looking out the window over the entrance drive, wondering who would show up first. There was politics in everything, even the order in which one shows up at the palace of one more noble than yourself. To arrive too early was to presume too much; and yet to arrive after someone more prominent than yourself was to do the same. It was a silly game, since there was absolutely no way to find out how much further the others had to go. Invariably, there would be a number of silly excuses for why the arrival time was later or earlier than it ought to have been.
The first coach pulled up next to the door, and Taréz merely watched. Greeting the guests was his mother’s duty; his father would appear only when everyone else had arrived. By then, maybe, he would have figured out just what he was going to say.
Once the first noble arrived, the game began, and the coaches bunched up in the drive, jockeyeing for just the right position. Some brought wives and/or sons, some didn’t. Below, the Queen was greeting them all with the same beautiful smile, regardless of their position or order of arrival. There were murmurs that she was simply faking it all, hiding her true thoughts with that smile, but Taréz knew better. She was one of the most genuine people he knew.
The last noble disappeared from view, meaning he was now inside. It was the King’s cue, and Taréz had to be down there first. Oh his way down, he met Stecky, the dark Vle who had been Yis’ assistant, coming up the stairs. The King had never promoted the Vle, who now served as Gardric’s palace attaché, because he simply didn’t have the seniority or the panache required for all the responsibilties of the job. Which was why Gardric now held some of those. Besides, Yis would be wanting the job back. Hopefully.
Taréz took his place near the front of the dark-skinned crowd beside the Queen, and turned to wait for his father. Stecky appeared first, coming to the stairway and down about halfway. The King paused at the top, and waited for Stecky to make the announcement.
“May I present His Majesty King Lajot the Twenty-fourth.”
That was the cue to bow while the King came down the stairs. The Queen took his arm, and smiled as gracefully as ever. “Good evening.” All straightened, and he continued, “Shall we dine?” He turned and led the way into the dining hall.
“It is good to see that the palace is in good repair,” said Lord Varabia. “They say that the state of the King’s palace reflects the state of the Kingdom.”
“Not necessarily,” countered Lajot, taking his position at the head of the table. The lord was placed at Taréz’s left, for he was the lord of the greatest fiefdom of those present. The Queen, of course, was at Lajot’s right. He continued, “There are many cases in which the Kingdom suffers because too much is spent on the palace itself.”
“But you have always been a modest King,” replied Lord Rollaine. “Is it not true that the funds for your new wing have been saved up over many years?”
“It is true.” Taréz knew that the conversation would not stay with such pleasant banter for long. The funds that were once earmarked for that wing now were being used to build the camp— and he could only hope it would be enough. “That method is a far smaller burden on the economy.” That, he knew, would send the conversation right over the brink— might as well get it over with.
“Many kings would not concern themselves so with the economy,” said Varabia. “Many kings would simply move their subjects off their property willy-nilly, and expect them to start over and be productive again.”
Willy-nilly? That was how it looked to them? Had they not received Gardric’s report? And how long would they continue this vagueness?
“And then there are the times when such an action is necessary,” his father replied.
A young noble named Lord Lacigia, who was without much influence, asked, “And you would consider depriving me of all my subjects a necessary action?”
Taréz could see his father’s face ease a little. All eyes were now on him, waiting for an answer. “Yes, I made my decision based on facts brought to my attention by both my former chamberlain and Gardric. I must apologize if I have left you alone in your lands, but I assure you that I intend to return all the light Vle to their property in due time.”
“And, if I may ask, Sire, when is ‘in due time’?” asked Varabia.
“Frankly, I don’t know. Gardric and I must discuss that in more detail.”
Lord Dabendaben leaned forward. “If I remember correctly, Gardric comes from a long line of bigots.”
“That would not be far from the truth,” replied Lajot. “I have long had to take his recommendations carefully. However, he is also an honorable Vle. He would not lie to me, nor follow my orders to anything less than the full letter. As long as I make myself specifically clear, I can count on him to obey me.”
“That may be so, Your Majesty,” said Varabia. “But is it not possible that he has slowly clouded your judgement? No offense, but you have worked with him for a very long time.”
“I have indeed. However, I have worked with him for the same amount of time as you have had light Vle as subjects. If we say that my judgement is clouded, then it is reasonable to assume that your collective judgement is clouded as well. I know that all of you are aware of the recent troubles that we have had without miners.” There were various noises of assent. “And you are also aware of the bankers’ strike.” More nodding heads. “Consider also: The troubles with our South Hall construction project have been suspicious, including one incident which could have killed me, and a rogue leather-worker who was suspiciously in the wrong part of the palace.”
“But, these are—” began Lord Dabendaben, but Lajot cut him off.
“There is one last thing. Are you aware of the border incursion by a Varmacian scout troop?”
That did surprise them somewhat. “These are indeed trying times, Your Majesty,” said the lord of Creaz. “We must tread carefully.”
“Indeed. I would very much like to keep my line on the throne— no other country can claim a dynasty as unbroken as mine. And, unfortunately, the events of the past year seem to indicate that I am in danger. I cannot afford to remain passive, and simply hope everything works out.”
“This still seems a rather drastic solution,” said Varabia. “Our neighbors are quite unhappy about your actions.”
Lajot nodded. “I know. King Baran canceled our summit as soon as he heard about my proclamation.” That was something that bothered Taréz to quite a degree: Didn’t it make sense that such a summit was all the more necessary, to keep communication going and thereby divert war? Undoubtedly the Varmacian king was now fuming.
The table was silent for a few minutes. Finally, the Queen asked, “Can we now have a conversation about something else?”
The King squeezed his wife’s arm. “Yes, my dear. Do you have a suggestion?”
“Oh, perhaps the next ball. It’s only a month away.”
“Great! Now I just hope I have the money to attend,” said Lord Lacigia dryly.
That caused a little bit more silence before the rest of the guests decided that a new topic was indeed needed.

The day after the hunt, Taréz sat in his chamber, deep in thought.

Is my father doing the right thing?

Is there a proper course of action?

Is my father doing the right thing?

Is there a proper course of action?
|
|
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"Gardric!"
Only a moment passed before the chief appeared in the doorway. “Sire?”
“We’re going to visit the camp.”
“Well, Sire, I don’t know if that’s necessary just yet—”
“Why not?”
“It isn’t finished.”
“Fine. I want to see how it’s coming.”
“Things are still quite rough. I don’t know if I can provide enough security...”
“You’ll do your best. Is there a place where I can observed without being observed?”
“Of course. My office there has some observation windows.”
“Very well. Call the coachmaster, and have him prepare one of our plainest coaches.”
“As you say, Sire.” He walked off, while the prince went into his bedroom and changed into his plainest hunting clothes.

That night, Hyran went to bed, but the debate went on in his mind. All the ways that he looked at the situation led to but one conclusion: The Church of the Great Master had a unique position to influence the direction of the King’s policy. True, it set a dangerous precedent. It was also true that there was no guarantee that the King didn’t have good reasons (whatever could they be?!). Furthermore, there was no reason to think that lives were in danger. It was a simple infringement of the freedom of the light Vle.
Hyran gave up on sleep and got up. With a wave, he lit his glowworm lamp, and put on his shoes. It was dead quiet, and opening his door shattered that silence. Nevertheless, it did not seem to wake anyone, so he slipped out. Carefully, he closed his door again, and walked on down the hall. Soon, he was outside, in the clear, cool air. He breathed deeply, and with his glowworms providing light, he walked on down to town.
It was still a half hour until sunrise when he arrived, but Vle were already moving around. Bakers slaved away making the day’s fresh bread, and other shopkeepers arrived to set up shop for the day. There was not a single light face there. He wandered the town, counting houses that had the locks thrown— a sure sign that the owner was gone. Apparently, the light Vle had gone; on their own, or by force, Hyran didn’t yet know.
The sky above brightened to a dark blue, and his glowworms were no longer necessary. He chose a baker’s shop, and ordered a small pastry to break his fast.
“Brother! What are you doing here, out of season?” asked the baker.
“I heard the news about the proclamation. I came to see for myself,” replied Hyran.
“Well, it’s been good for business, for me, at least. Most of the bakers in this town were light, so now I have more customers. But there were fewer light Vle in the chemist business, so they’re suffering from loss of customers.”
Hyran nodded. “What about daily life? I mean, outside of business?”
“Well, parties aren’t nearly as much fun. There aren’t as many people, of course, and we’re still kinda too depressed to celebrate.”
“I can understand that. What about the kids?”
“Well, it depends. A lot of them had light friends, and some miss having the more talented athletes on their teams. There were those who just happened to have only dark friends, and they don’t seem too affected. But the toughest are the ones in mixed families.”
Hyran nodded again.
“So, would you like anything to eat this morning?”
“Well, I would, but I have no money—”
“No matter. I can spare one or two. It’s nice to have one of you guys care about what’s going on. I mean, I know it’s against your vows, but I knida think that oughta be changing now. You’re losing touch.”
Hyran didn’t reply to that, but asked, “Could I possibly have that jelly-filled one?”
“Certainly.” The baker took it from its box and handed it to the monk. Then, the shop began to fill up with customers, and the baker had to get back to work.
Amid a few looks of surprise, Hyran finished his pastry, waved to the baker, and headed out. The town was moving again, but it seemed very dead compared to Deschule week. Though that was somewhat to be expected, it seemed as though a disaster had ocurred.
Hyran realized that that was exactly right— a disaster had ocurred, right under the collective nose of the monastery. Had it been a gale-force wind, or a fire, the monks would not have hesitated to give whatever aid they could. But this was the result of politics, and therefore not technically a disaster.
Perhaps their place in society ought to change, indeed.
Hyran glanced at the Vle coming and going, wondering if he’d catch a glimpse of Mecora or Caile. He wasn’t surprised that he didn’t, but he did notice the rather glum look on the faces he saw. Even the older children showed it.
Faintly above the mumble of the townsfolk, Hyran heard the bell at the monastery ringing, calling the monks to their daily dedication. It was time to return, so he took off running. As he ran, he heard the sound of a number of hoofbeats below. He did not spare the time to look, lest he be later than he already was.
Breathlessly, he slipped into line. “Good morning, brothers,” he said between gasps. He had gotten out of shape, sitting so long behind that desk! Perhaps he needed to take up exercise. Wouldn’t that get his brothers’ attention!
Mentally, he calmed his breathing, and the procession moved in, chanting their songs as always. However, he could hear the sound of heavy footsteps, and those behind him stopped singing. Apparently, though, everything was okay, because the service went on as normal.
It was only when they filed out again, that they found out what was going on. A troop of soldiers was at the monastery, in a place thought inviolable by the outside. Certainly everyone knew that it was forbidden to be on the platform without express consent of the abbot or a higher authority. Who had authorized this?
One soldier stood on a bench, and assumed a commanding pose. “By the order of King Lajot the twenty-fourth, I hereby command all light Vle, that is, all those who trace ancestry to the island of Kamilea, to take up their belongings and come to the Light Vle’ Camp. You will have one hour to comply.” Then, he stepped back off the bench.
There was confusion and then compliance. As odd as the situation was, who would dare harm a monk? Hyran watched the dark population move to the copying room, while the light population moved to their cells. Valans passed, not seeing Hyran.
“Brother Valans!” he called.
Valans stopped, and came over. “I should have known it would happen this way. Who knows, maybe it was meant to be.”
“Perhaps. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I hope I can walk that far.”
“You’ll make it.”
“Well, I’d better go. I only have an hour.”
“Yeah. Nice getting to know you.”
“It was, it was.” And then, because it was just getting too awkward to say anything more, Valans joined the cell-ward stream.

Hyran just stood watching the activity. The hour went quickly, as some monks were ready early and were herded down. Valans waved sadly as he walked down the stairs. Among the last to go was a very shocked-looking Allega.
Allega! It hadn’t seemed possible that such a distiguished old man could ever leave. Allega, gone! Who was he to talk to, now? Who else could possibly understand, let him ruminate his way around to an acceptable answer?
Finally, everyone was gone, leaving just him and a few older monks out on the platform. Hyran turned, and saw the abbot out on his balcony, impassive as ever. He noticed Hyran’s gaze, and left the balcony.

That evening, he stood at the railing, meditating some more on the events of the day. Valans, gone after only one day. Allega, gone after many decades. And all of it possible only with the express consent of someone powerful within the church.
“Worried for our new brother?”
Hyran hadn’t been aware that anyone was there, but the abbot himself now stood at his side. “Yes, Father, and everyone else.”
“I can tell. It’s in your aura.”
“Is there a problem with that?”
The abbot looked up at him. “You tell me, Son.”
“You probably want me to say, there is, because The Great Master protects those who serve him.”
“You don’t seem sure of it.”
“No, I don’t. I’m not sure why, but all of this... It seems like... Like some sort of mistake.”
“Well, it is, on the King’s part. He’ll learn soon enough.”
“How?”
“Well, I don’t know. He just will.”
“We could tell him.”
“Now, Hyran, you know the rules.”
“Yes, but I’m just not convinced they apply in this case.”
“Rules exist for a reason, especially ones given by the Great Master Himself.”
“Of course.”
“Keep meditating. The answer will come.” The abbot walked away as silently as he had come.
So, Hyran did continue, so deeply that he did not notice his second visitor at first, even when she tugged on his sleeve.
He came to and looked down. It was dark, and he could barely see the young face looking up at him. “Hyran?”
“Mecora? What are you doing here?” In the face of all that had happened, he found it difficult to be mad at her for being on the platform without permission. (The abbot never granted such permission, except to neophytes, and especially not to girls.)
“I had to come. Life is so horrible now.”
“You haven’t gotten over your grief yet.”
“How am I supposed to, without any friends?!”
“There aren’t any new friends you can make?”
“No.” Hyran suspected that it was the memory of her friends in the way. “Well, you’ll make some soon. Just wait.”
“But, I don’t want to wait. I want them back now! I almost wish I could just go and bring them back.”
“They’ll be back someday.”
“They’d better be.”
They stood in silence a moment, until Hyran could hear a soft sobbing. Hyran put his hand on her far shoulder, prompting her to put her arms around him. It surprised him, but he didn’t flinch. If he could add some needed comfort, he would provide it. The problem was, it could only be this once.
Finally, he was getting sleepy, and he didn’t want her to fall asleep standing there. “Mecora, are you still awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Can you make it home?”
“Yeah.” She let go, and rubbed her eyes.
“You’d better take some glowworms.” Hyran stood on a bench and took the jar from the top of the lamp post. This he gave to her. “Consider it a gift.”
“Won’t someone wonder?”
“It’s rather windy tonight, isn’t it?”
“No,” she began, but then she understood. “Thanks!”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”

Sending a letter was usually an undependable thing, but between Kelwome and the monastery, it was guaranteed that the letter would arrive safe and sound. For that very reason, some monks chose to have pen-pals in town, a permitted contact with the outside world that gave another view on the theology and knowledge gained from the texts they copied.
Hyran, of course, was one of those, and he generally corresponded with those who he’d stayed with during Deschule week. Valans, it turned out, already had some correspondents. Hyran discovered this when a boy from town brought up a small taschel of mail the day after Valans’ vow-taking and called out the names of those who would receive something.
Hyran got something, too, from everyone he wrote to. He sat next to Valans on a bench by the railing, and broke the wax seal on one of the letters.
It was from the Baydacks. The penmanship was crabbed, more hurried than usual; the letter itself was very short. It read:
“Brother Hyran! Have you heard? The King has ordered all light Vle to leave their homes and move to a camp! Can this be right? Is there any way that you can help? Surely, the Representative will be able to reverse this decision!
“I don’t know if we will still be here in a few days, so don’t bother to write. I know you will do what is best. Regards,
The Baydacks.”
Hyran sat back, shocked. Why would the King order such a thing? It made no logical sense. He opened another letter, and another; whether written by light or dark hands, they all mentioned a proclamation the King had made. And here he sat next to a light-skinned Vle. “I just got the most curious letter from town,” he said.
“Some very odd things are afoot in the world beyond, Brother. I assume you’re referring to the proclamation?”
“Yes. It doesn’t seem possible.”
“To me, neither. But it’s why I came here. I can’t very well break my vows and quit being a priest just in order to avoid being put in a camp, so I came to take more vows.”
“You chose one camp over another, then.”
“Hmm! I’d never thought of it that way. Anyway, even though there’s no indication that I’d be killed or seriously wounded in the camp, I just feel this is a better place. Maybe they won’t come here.”
“I hope not. We’d lose a lot of very good brothers.” Hyran paused. “I almost wish it were possible to leave, just to see what’s going on down there.”
“And now I can’t, either.”
Hyran shrugged. “We can only trust in the Great Master, as we’re supposed to.”
“Yes. Indeed.”
There was one more letter, and he opened it, wondering if it would be just another explanation of events. But it wasn’t, exactly: in a very careful script, but with many spelling errors, Mecora had written:
“Hyran, sumthing verry terrable is hapuning. Their gowing to maik the lite vle liv in a camp. Their taking my frends away frum me! And last nite, Handa dide, too, so now I’ll hav no frends at all. And almost haf the town has tu go, so their are fuwer plases to shop and hav fun. Pleez help, or at least be my frend?
Mecora”
This letter was very different from the others. While the letters written by light Vle calmly asked for prayers and influence with the Rep (and through him, the King), the letters by dark Vle even more calmly told of the situation and other town news. This letter, however, was an emotional plea to help her friends. The girl had suffered a big loss, and needed a friend. She also had given some idea of what changes the town faced. With a third of the people gone, it would be much, much more quiet.
“What is it?” asked Valans. “Did someone die?”
Hyran finally realized he was crying. “Yes, but it’s more than that. Right now my vows are really in my way.”
“I never expected to meet a monk who would say that.”
“Most won’t. But then, it’s not always easy. Temptation is always around the corner. You must watch out for it.”
“I will,” said Valans.

Never had anything weighed on Hyran’s heart as much as this proclamation did. In fact, the non-involvement vow had really been quite easy to keep until now.
That afternoon, Valans was off in the chapel praying for guidance in his new venture. That left Hyran on his own, as well, simply waiting outside should Valans have any questions. The rest of the brothers at his level were at their copying desks, occupying their time. Hyran wished he had something to do that would keep his mind off the proclamation, but he supposed that whatever he did, he’d be rather unproductive at it. And how was he to answer a new brother’s questions if he couldn’t answer his own?
Allega came around the tree, deep in thought as usual, and enjoying the freedom of his level. Always observant, though, he noticed Hyran, and came over. “There seems to be something occupying your mind.”
Hyran nodded. “I got a large stack of letters from Kelwom.”
“You are normally quite happy when you receive but one. Bad news comes in wagonfuls?”
“You might say that. The King has issued a proclamation, sending all light Vle to a camp near the palace. It’s the real reason Valans has joined us.”
The unflappable Allega didn’t seem purturbed in the least. “To save himself.” It was a statement that neatly summed up the situation.
“Yes. He seems to accept it, even better than I can.”
“You knew the danger when you elected to receive letters.”
“Yes, I did. And I do not regret it.”
“Even though you’re hurting now?”
“Sure. Ignorance, though bliss, can only impede spiritual growth.”
“That’s true.”
“The question is, what to do now? I can’t very well initiate Valans with a burning quandary in my head.”
Allega shrugged. “I disagree. You are showing him a part of the brotherhood that most initiates never see.”
“That’s all well and good, but does it help him learn our theology?”
“He is a priest already. I think he knows our theology fairly well.”
“But he doesn’t know mine,” Hyran complained, “he only knows what he is supposed to know for the benefit of the town. And now mine’s completely up in the air.”
“My, my, you really are broken up about this. But let me ask: What can you possibly do?”
“Nothing! That’s just it. I can do nothing, but something needs to be done. More than one villager suggested I alert the Rep in Kezantopil— I’m sure he could use his influence with the King to reverse the proclamation.”
“That would be political interference.”
Hyran nodded. “I know.”
“And you have only one part of the story. What can you know of the real issues, being secluded up here? The whole reason we have this non-interference is because we cannot always have the whole story. We may think we’re acting in the best interests of those we help, but how do we know, really? We cannot. We must guess. And for one as revered and virtuous as the Rep to direct a change when he does not know all the consequences... That simply cannot be allowed.”
“I know.”
“So you must simply accept that The Great Master has everything in his sight, and that he will do what is necessary.”
“That is what I am having trouble with right now.”
“Hmm. Our most basic tenet.”
Hyran nodded.
Allega remained silent a moment, meditating. Then, Valans came out, looking somewhat driven, and also somewhat unsure. “I was wrong.”
Hyran looked at him again, more attentive now. “Explain, brother.”
“I had thought that my purpose in coming here was to remain safe, but I was wrong. My purpose here is something different. We must tell the King he is wrong.”
Allega dipped his head to one side. “Hyran, have you been dumping your insecurities on a new brother? That is not good.”
“No, Brother, I have not. He has been aware of my insecurity, but I have not explained it to him.”
Meanwhile, Valans looked at the two, surprised at their reaction. He tried again. “Don’t you see where our responsibility lies? We are united across lines, here! We have the power to pressure the King!”
“Valans, remember your oaths,” Allega reminded gently.
“But they are not relevant now! We cannot let this continue.”
Hyran muttered, “We have no choice.”
Valans now remained silent, and hung his head. “I don’t know if I can indeed be a monk, then. But The Great Master is calling.”
Allega just blinked. “We have a test for the truth of a calling. You may be aware that some can be false, the product of a mere human wish. So, would you like—”
“But I can tell... You don’t believe me.”
“We find it difficult to believe the Great Master would call on you to convince us to break His own mandates, and the vows we’ve made.”
Hyran thought, Who’s ‘we’? And then he decided to say it.
Allega looked surprised. “Hyran? I’ve known you to be a bit of a rebel in your own way, but... This is simply going too far.”
“You misunderstood me, Brother. I meant to say that I don’t find it difficult to believe. Who are we to second guess the Great Master?”
“Well, no one, but—”
“Especially in a situation like this. Is it inconceiveable that He should want to protect his people, and that we are the ones to help, to do his work here in this world?”
Allega blinked some, thinking hard. “We shall convene the test tomorrow. I would suggest some meditation time.” Then, he walked off.
Hyran shrugged. “See you tomorrow.”

Monk

As was the case every year, within a few months after Deschule another Vle entered the monastic life. There was something about the season that brought priests to such dedication to the Great Master’s Word that they felt called to become a monk. It wasn’t always an easy transition, however: priests, by nature, were Vle for Vle, very involved in other’s lives.
A monk, however, had to be the opposite.
Hyran listened from his pew toward the back of the chapel as a light-skinned priest from Kelwome became a brother, remembering the vows he’d taken. This was a good opportunity to check one’s progress in upholding those vows, and Hyran decided he was doing really well— with the vows he still agreed with.
“Do you vow to remain on the monastery grounds at all times, except those proscribed by the abbot?”
“I do.” Hyran decided he didn’t really hear the tone of certain conviction, but rather the tone of a rote ‘How much longer will this take? What other parts of my life can I possibly vow away?’ It was typical, and if others heard, they understood as well.
“Do you now renounce all connection with your past and future, to live only in the present as a servant of the Great Master?”
“I do.”
“Do you now renounce all involvement with the outside world, to concentrate on the Word of the Great Master as your sole concern?”
“I do.”
“Do you now dedicate your service to The Great Master, to do all things according to his Will, to respond to adversity according to his Will, to live your life according to his Will?”
“I do.”
“Valans, I now consecrate your life to the Great Master, in His name and the name of his father, to be his humble slave in this world and the world beyond. Amen.”
Everyone chorused, “Amen,” and then stood in applause. Valans now turned, looking surprised and flattered at the welcome he was receiving. Then, the abbot bid him go meet everyone, and the expression changed again: “Everyone?!” Hyran saw him say. Indeed, that was the custom, though it was impossible for him to remember everyone’s name,
When it was his turn to shake the new brother’s hand, Hyran, simply said, “Welcome,” and then made to move on. But the abbot stopped him. “Not so fast, Hyran.”
“Yes, Father?” he replied, using the honorific as he was supposed to.
“I would like you to initiate our new brother.”
....! That was just one step from being a mentor (and a step away from being a gardener)! Somewhere in the crowd, Allega chuckled loudly. “Y-yes, Father,” Hyran stammered, “B—”
“You have a complaint, Son?”
“N- no, I simply was going to say that there must surely be better, more... orthodox choices than I.”
“Well, then,” replied the abbot, “you had better work hard and become more orthodox.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Now, relax. You’ll do fine.”
“Thank you, Father.”
The abbot moved on, introducing Valans to the rest of the monks gathered there. Hyran just stood there, thinking about what he was going to do about this. How much more orthodox should he be? Or, should he just be true to himself, never mind the abbot? The advantage is that he’d probably not end up a mentor. Or a gardener, for that matter.
The, he realized he should probably stick with the small greeting retinue. He snapped out of it and moved over to Valans’ side, and just watched, smiled, and endured the winks and chuckles of the other monks. Finally, Valans had met everyone, and it was just the three of them. “Well, Hyran, what do you think you will do first?” asked the abbot.
Hyran had absolutely no idea. “Uh, well.... I thought I’d take him to a pub down in town and get him nice and drunk, before we go stand on the steps of the cathedral and preach damnation theology.”
The abbot’s face remained as impassive as stone. “Ha. Do you even have a plan, yet?”
“Well, I suppose, I’d better show him where he’ll be living, unless he already knows,” Hyran guessed. “After that, I thought it would be good for us to talk theology in the library.”
“I would think you could talk about that absolutely anywhere.”
“So would I,” agreed Hyran, though that was as close as he could get to implying that he didn’t agree with the ‘no leaving’ vow.
“So, a tour of the place would be nice.”
The abbot had second guessed him. Hyran had intended to give the tour along the way to Valans’ quarters. “Of course, Father.”
“Well, have fun. If you have any questions, Son, just ask anyone, and they will be able to find me.”
“Thank you, Father.”
And with a blessing movement of his hand, the abbot moved off pontifically. Hyran just stood there quietly, watching him absent-mindedly while he thought about where to go first.
Finally, he said, “He’s very supportive when you’re new. Enjoy it while you can, and try to make it last.”
“Okay, I’ll remember that,” said Valans. “You make it sound as if this place has some politics.”
“Is there a place that doesn’t? Well, this monastery really isn’t bad that way— I’ve heard of worse. And it’s very easy to not get involved. Some may try, but if you’re non-descript, they’ll ignore you.”
“Are you non-descript?”
Hyran laughed. “Come, talk with me, and judge for yourself...”

Early the next morning, Mecora woke up thinking about the funeral they’d had, but put it out of her mind. She had two more people to say goodbye to, and that wasn’t going to be easy.
She went to the plaza, and did a little bit of shopping. She didn’t have much money, but she spent what she had on a pair of diary scrolls with a porcupine pencil that stowed in the roller. These in hand, she headed first to Mereo’s house. It was nicer than Mecora’s, because while being third level as hers, it was an extruded house. The views from the windows were always impressive, and the whole house had much better light levels. Inside, there was chaos as everyone tried to decide what could go and what couldn’t. What made it more difficult was the uncertainty of how long they’d be gone, and whether they’d simply be fed, or if they’d have to earn a living like they usually did.
“Hi,” said Mereo when Mecora appeared at the door. “I’m glad you came over.”
“How could I not? Although, I gotta admit, it was hard to decide whose house to come to first.”
“What’s that in your hand?”
Mecora had almost forgotten. “Oh, it’s my going away present.” She took one of the scrolls and handed it to Mereo. “It’s a diary, so that you can record everything you experience.”
Mereo took the present gladly. “Oh, Mecora, thanks! I’ll write in it every day. I just hope I have enough ink.”
“It comes with a porcupine pencil, so you can save your ink for later.”
“Mecora, you shouldn’t have! This must have cost a lot!”
Mecora shrugged. “I’ve lost a lot already. It was hardly painful to part with the money.”
Mereo nodded in understanding, and put her new scroll carefully into one of her travelling bags. “Well, I’ve packed everything I want to take. Shall we go see how Ueal’s doing?”
“Yeah.” Mecora wondered how her light-skinned friend could be taking all this so calmly, and then decided she was just doing a darn good job of hiding her feelings. Was it better that way?
Ueal’s house wasn’t too far away, at platform level but carved out of the tree. The situation there was even more hectic than it had been at Mereo’s, because the family was bigger and included some little children.
“Hi! Oh, Mereo, tell me you’re not all packed already.”
“Yeah. Having trouble?”
“Are you kidding? How are you supposed to pack for a five day walk to a place you don’t even know how long you’re staying at? Care to give some advice?”
Mereo just shrugged. “I can’t give any. I just packed a third of everything.”
“A third. That’s too much.”
Mecora couldn’t help but chuckle. Ueal, despite her median economic level, had more clothes than any other girl in town, even the relatively well-off Mereo.
“Well, here’s a bit more to take,” said Mecora. “I hope you like it.”
Ueal took the gift, and smiled broadly. Then, she hugged Mecora. “A diary! Oh, thank you! I’ll write in it every day!”
“I hope so. I know I can’t share in your journey, but I’d at least like to read about it.”
“Oh, you will, I promise.”
“Okay, Ueal,” said Mereo, crossing her arms, “Let’s see you pack it.”
“Pack it?! Hah! No problem.” She shuffled some things around in her travel bags, scowled a bit, shuffled some more, tried a spot, scowled some more, and then finally fit the scroll in, just perfectly. “See?”
The other two had no choice but to chuckle.
Just then, horns sounded somewhere. The rushed out to the railing and looked down. An army was massed down there, and some of the men were on their way up. The town erupted in action, as families realized that the time had come. What packing up hadn’t been done was now done in haste, and the activity swirled around the three girls.
“I’d better get back home,” said Mereo. “They’re probably wondering.”
“Let’s meet at the statue one last time,” Mecora suggested. “That way your families can get together, too.”
“Okay. Good idea.”
Ueal went back inside, and the other two went to Mereo’s house. Most of the family was coming out, laden with as much as they could carry. Mereo’s mother looked relieved to see her daughter return. “I was about to go look for you in this mess! Come on, help me carry something.”
“Of course, Mom.”
“I hope they have wagons to ride in.”
“You mean, they might not?!” Mereo’s confident demeanor shattered. “Elf! There’s no way I could carry all my stuff and walk that far!”
“You never know. That’s a lot of wagons.”
“True.”
Mereo’s father came out, and closed the door. “Well, I suppose we’d better find out where we’re supposed to go.”
“Can we stop at the statue?” asked Mereo. “Mecora and I agreed to meet Ueal there, so we can all travel together.”
“I think we can do that. Come on, everyone.” They picked up their luggage and headed slowly in the direction of the statue. It wasn’t easy, maneuvering their heavy loads through a crowd equally laden. Along the way, they met three soldiers. “Come on, lities, let’s get moving on down, we don’t have all day,” they were saying. When they noticed the family, they got particularly pushy. “That way’s not down, lities! Come on, move!” They noticed Mecora, as well. One put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “I hope you don’t think you’re going with them.”
“No, just to the statue. We agreed to meet with another family to say goodbye,” explained Mecora. “Now quit harassing us.”
That got laughter out of the soldiers. “Well, we ain’t gonna be too nice to stragglers, so you’d better not straggle!” Then, they simply moved on.
Mecora breathed a deep sigh of relief, then caught herself. Wouldn’t it be better for her to go along? Then she could be with her two best friends!
They made it to the statue a little before Ueal’s family. It was a little disconcerting to Mecora to have to say their goodbyes with everyone else watching. She felt kinda foolish crying so hard, and making others cry. Even some of the little children were, even though they had absolutely no clue why they should be.
In the midst of one of many long hugs, more soldiers came by. “Hey, now, don’t take too long to say your goodbyes, lities! You don’t want to find out what we do with stragglers!”
Mecora was getting fed up with the soldiers. It seemed to her as if they hated those who were lighter than they. It made no sense— there had always been peace between the two races. Had that changed somehow, for some unknown reason, in the world beyond? It made the whole moving thing make a little more sense, if such a thing was possible. Mecora looked more closely at the soldiers, and saw that there wasn’t a light skinned Vle among them.
“Listen, mister! I will not have you treating my friends with anything less than respect! Now, get on with your duties elsewhere, and we’ll come along when they’re good and ready.”
The soldiers just chuckled at her. “Who’s we? You don’t think you’re going with them, do you? Come on,” they said, physically pushing Ueal’s father and Mereo’s mother. “It’s time to go.”
“Bye!” The goodbyes began anew, more and more hurried as the families got further and further into the crowd. And then, in the midst of a tide of Vle-kind, Mecora was left absolutely, utterly alone.
Slowly, the tide receeded, leaving only the soldiers, who began peeking in every nook and cranny, as if looking for criminals. Mecora watched this through bleary, unbelieving eyes. Finally, even the soldiers were going away.
She went to the railing to watch the retinue leave. There weren’t any wagons to ride in, but neither did everyone have to carry everything. Each family had a wagon to push, which the father of the family did in most cases, while others walked. Mecora wondered at what the world had come to, and just stood there, sobbing, looking at the stream pour away into the forest. Behind them, soldiers on horses carried whips, which they had so far not used. She couldn’t bear the thought of a whip on the backs of her friends, or even of their proud, strong fathers.
A heavy step sounded behind her. “Great to see them lities go, ain’t it?”
Mecora rounded on the soldier, who appeared less than ten years older than her. “What do you mean great?!”
“Come on, you can’t tell me you actually liked having them here.”
“Mister, I’ll have you know that two of my best friends are about to wear holes in their shoes, and that another of my friends died of drunkenness because of all this!”
“Best friends?! How can lities be best friends? They’re dirty, dumb, and inherently untrustable.”
Mecora slapped him so hard his eyes literally spun. He staggered, taking a step back, and gathered his wits enough to stay his hand. Then, he just stood there, confused. A moment passed before he stood up straight, straightened his uniform, and paced away with as much dignity as he could muster.
And once his footsteps faded, there were no more footsteps to be heard.

Vle are funny, Mecora decided. It didn’t take much for them to make an excuse to have a party, and the proclamation was an example. Normally, Mecora would have welcomed any excuse as much as everyone else. But not this time. Not when her best friends were about to leave.
It seemed most of the townspeople agreed. Instead of an excuse to party, it had become simply an excuse to drink. A band played, as usual, but without the vigor and energy they usually had. In fact, they played a lot of sad songs, and love songs. The only people who danced were couples, many of whom were mixed.
Everyone else just sat and listened from the pubs, drinking their beers on their own seats. There was little trouble finding a place to sit this night.
The four girls claimed their drinks and sat down in a corner. No one had said anything since they’d met at the statue, and now it seemed to Mecora as if nothing was really worth saying anyway.
Apparently Handa thought there was. “C’mon, girls, we can’t say goodbye like this.”
“Why not?” crabbed Mereo.
“Well, we oughta toast each other, at least. It’s a big, scary step we’re taking. We’ll need all the luck we can get.”
“What under the Great Master do you need luck for?”
“Well, how am I supposed to get along without you two? You’ve given me so much advice, and so many fun things to do, and, and... Burn the forest! Why do you have to go?!”
There really was no answer to that, except perhaps some lame comment on her epithet.
Ueal and Mereo each tossed off another drink and slammed the glasses down on the table like they were a couple of laborers drinking away the day’s labors. Mereo sighed. “I wish it were all a hallucination.”
“Me too,” agreed Mecora. “I wish this glass could take it all away.”
“It won’t,” Ueal declared. “Nothing will. We’re just gonna wake up with this great big headache like we always do, only it’ll be nothing like the ache we’ll have after walking for five days. And the ache of leaving home, and the ache of living in the same place as every other light Vle in this whole burnin’ kingdom! I dunno, Maybe it’d be better to just walk off the platform. No problem. No, no problem at all.”
Everyone in the pub was watching and listening, but no one had the energy to say anything. Mecora decided she wasn’t gonna let.. let someone... do what? why? She took another drink and discovered it was gone. “Go get more,” she ordered Handa.
Handa stumbled off, and Mecora realized, as she hit a third table, that she was the worst off of the four of them. She must have been the most disturbed. Who? Was someone going to decide something?
The music ended, and the musicians packed up their instruments. Mecora thought about protesting, but Handa (miraculously) returned with the drinks. All four just set into their glasses; the sound of conversation faded around them as the patrons could no longer hide their voices in the music.
“This is really stupid,” Mecora commented in her best whisper for no reason at all. It just was, whatever it was.
“Yeah. We might as well drink brandy,” replied a white-faced blob across the table.
Somehow, that wasn’t what Mecora had meant, but she agreed anyway. She took another swig, and felt the blissful loss of worry, the loss of control... and the smell of something rather putrid....

The runningtree had apparently visited again and stomped on her head. This time, she didn’t even move, but just lay still as the room spun, and spun, and spun.
Eventually, it slowed, leaving just the headache. “Handa?”
No response. Oh, well, she’d just have to wait for her willow-bark tea. That, or get it herself.
Ueal was already awake. “I wish Handa was awake.”
“So do I. I can’t decide if it would be worth it to go to her mother’s shop myself.”
“No, no, I doubt it.”
“Yeah.”
A moan from Mereo said she was coming awake. “Is Handa awake yet?”
“No,” Ueal and Mecora chorused.
“That’s amazing. Normally, she’d be halfway to her mother’s by now.”
“Well, didn’t she have just as much beer as we did?” asked Mecora.
“Yeah.”
“Well, there you go. Her tolerance is lower.”
“By the Great Master! She didn’t jump, did she?”
“No, no, no, I can see her, right here, sleeping, the gentle rise... of.. her chest... Oh, burning forest!” Despite the hundreds of complaints from her head, Mecora got to her knees and went over to where Handa lay. “Handa? Handa, wake up, please. Please? Handa!” She couldn’t be dead! Not on top of everything else, it wouldn’t be fair, it just wouldn’t be fair...
Ueal and Mereo were beside her, helping in the attempt to wake Handa. “She might just be so unconscious we can’t wake her,” suggested Mereo unconvincingly.
“Oh, please, let that be true!” exclaimed Mecora.
An older man, apparently having heard the exclamation, came over. “A little too much last night, girls?”
Mecora looked up to see the town’s doctor, and nodded. “Kind of a going away party, I guess.”
The doctor’s eyes narrowed as he nudged his way in. The three gave way and watched carefully as he put his fingers under Handa’s chin. Then, he lowered his head. “I’m sorry, girls.”
Mecora felt the shock, but her nerves were too deadened. When you’re going to lose two friends, what’s one more, anyway? Only she’d never gotten the chance to say goodbye to this friend.
The doctor stood, and motioned to a man passing by. “Would you please go to Holice’s and bring her here?”
The man just stood there a moment, as if stunned at having to be the bearer of bad news. Then, he trotted off in the direction that Handa should be going. Not that man.
All wrong. It was all wrong! None of this, by any right, should be happening. How could something go so wrong, especially right under the gaze of the Great Master above? Unless there were no such being. That had to be it. Had to be...

Girl

Mecora strained to hear the sounds of wildlife in the forest above the hubbub of the town, and half-heartedly wished the town would just stop for a moment so she could hear. Birds, frogs, crickets... But that only lasted a second before she was enjoying the hubbub itself and contributing to it. “Isn’t it just the greatest day?”
Her best friends echoed the sentiment. “It’s days like these you think nothing could ever go wrong!” exclaimed Ueal. “Let’s go to the statue.”
“And do what?” asked Mereo. “I suppose you want to watch the men working.”
“Is there anything wrong with that?”
“No, as long as you don’t go walking in your daydreams again.”
“I don’t do that!”
Mecora laughed. “I think we oughta just go to the plaza. A lot more is going on there.”
“Like what? A bunch of people going about their shopping and selling— no muscles, no cute faces...”
“Well, I happen to like watching all kinds of people. It’s fun to wonder what the people are thinking.” Just then, the sound of hoofbeats far below on the forest floor caught their attention. All four went to the railing, in time to see the messenger call the lift. A horse up on the second level platform walked in a circle, pulling a rope that brought the lift up to the first level. Just before he darted off the lift toward the steps, they were able to see from his uniform that he came from the King himself. The King had a proclamation! A horn sounded, and all that could congregated in the plaza. Mecora and friends crowded on a bench next to the railing to see and hear.
But it was not the mysterious good news everyone expected. All light Vle? Living in a single camp?!
Mecora was so shocked she was rooted to the spot where she stood. All the light Vle...! That meant nearly half the town... half her friends....
Beside her, Mereo began to weep, as did Ueal. Mecora put her arms around both, unable to control her own weeping. She wanted to say it was okay, everything would be all right, she understood how they felt— Would they make her go, too? But she couldn’t say that. Her mom had made her promise never to tell.
Handa stood a bit apart, seemingly unsure of what to do. “Why? Why would the King do such a thing? It makes no sense.” Her voice rose to a yell. “Great Master to the Underworld, IT MAKES NO SENSE!”
Mecora thought the whole forest had heard the last epithet, but few of the townspeople still in the plaza made any note of it. After all, Handa was right; it made no sense. The realization then came that Kings didn’t have to make sense— what they said was law, and that was that. Still, the king had never before had such an effect on their lives, having always been someone they knew of and perhaps dreamed of meeting. Now, he was letting everyone know he existed in a way they’d never forget.
Some of the light Vle who had heard the proclamation could already be seen preparing for the move. A number of the shops in town were owned by those of fair complexion, and over on the far side of the plaza, a banker was nailing boards over his windows. Mecora felt like yelling to him to stop. It wasn’t real! It couldn’t be real! It was all a dream— a nightmare!
But this nightmare wasn’t going away. Mecora decided it was best for the two girls at her side to head home; their mothers were probably looking for them. It was a silent walk through a silent town to some silent houses; the chirps and twitters of wildlife seemed far too cheery. Mecora wished they’d shut up.

Neither Mecora nor her mother talked as dinner was prepared. It was as if both of them had something to say, but saying anything was an admission that it really was happening. Annoyingly, her brothers played loudly, and her mother hummed as she worked over the stove, just as she always did. It was a sad tune, Mecora noted.
Soon, dinner was on the table, and everyone sat at their places. Mecora could only sit there and stare at the dish, her favorite: Rabbit stew with junips.
“Dear, you have to eat,” Mecora’s mother said above the din of her brothers.
“I’m just not hungry, Mom.”
“I know you’re worried for your friends, but it won’t do them or you any good to not eat.”
“I’m not just worried about my friends, and you know it.” “Mecora, we’ve been over this before. Now, eat.”
“I can’t. I just can’t. It feels like my stomach’s all tied up in a knot.”
“Well, I suppose we can do with the leftovers.”
Mecora didn’t respond to that. Her brothers continued playing at the table, making the usual mess and noise, seemingly oblivious of the outside world. She couldn’t understand why her mom wouldn’t shut them up. Couldn’t they be quiet just this once? “Boys! Can’t you just be quiet?!”
That startled them. The younger one began to cry, and the older said, “No! I don’ wanna!” And he stuck his tongue out.
“Don’t stick your tongue out at me, you little—”
“Mecora! Don’t talk to your brothers that way! You’ve made Yover cry!”
“But, Mom, they were making too much noise!”
“It’s not them, it’s you, Mecora. They have no concept of what just happened today. They’ll notice soon enough.”
“I wish I could be that ignorant.”
“But you’re not, so you’ll just have to figure out how to deal with it.”
“Just figure it out?! How am I supposed to do that?! My best friends are going to go live in a camp five days’ travel from here! I’m supposed to be able to figure out how to deal with that?!”
“I know it’s tough, Mecora, but you’ll get through it—”
“Oh, easy for you to say! You don’t even have any friends who are going away!”
“You think it doesn’t hurt me too? I’m losing half my customers! Half! How are we going to make it now? Don’t just think you’re the only one hurt!”
“Well, you could at least tell me how to deal with it.”
“Mecora, if I knew, I’d tell you.”
She felt anger, then frustration, then the feeling that no one could help her or make everything all right, not even her mother. She stormed off to her room, even as she remembered it was her mom’s room, too. But for now, she could just flop on the bed and cry.
The door cracked open. “Go away!” she yelled.
The door closed again.

By now Taréz was so accustomed to having bad news brought by the Chief that he was surprised when, three days later, the Chamberlain came into his chamber, a bit distressed.
“What is it?” asked his father. “Some more problems with the construction?”
“No, Sire. It’s an economic matter. The Light Vle League of Bankers have closed their banks until the concerns of their miner kinsmen are dealt with to their satisfaction.”
Taréz was stunned. The banking profession was primarily held by light Vle, even in the more westerly part of the country where there were almost no light Vle. Despite its size, Larmania was only as strong economically as the smaller light Vle countries to the south and east— and that largely because of the light Vle participation in the banking industry. “Do they have any specific suggestions of their own?”
“No, Sire, other than giving the miners what they want.”
“Impossible!” his father asserted. “If we raise the prices of metals to the level they want, no one will be able to afford them. And we certainly couldn’t compete— and that would be bad for them, too.”
“Apparently, Sire, the bankers disagree. I have heard from friends that our eastern nobles feel we’re undercutting them.”
Just then, Gardric stormed in. He opened his mouth as if to shout, but the King cut him off. “If it’s about the bankers, save it— I’ve heard. Any realistic suggestions on how to deal with them?”
“Unless realistic includes expatriation, no,” was the growled response.
“It sounds as though the bankers support the miners’ demands. I’m no economist, but I fail to see how raising the prices of metals can benefit the country.”
“It has nothing to do with that, Sire!” said the Chief impatiently. “They’re simply staging an economic takeover of this country. First, Yis, then the miners, now the bankers. Consider that war causes metal prices to rise. If you do not act now, you will lose control of the kingdom, from within, or without!”
And that was a scary thought. The House of Dronac had been on the throne constantly for the last few thousand years. Could a battle of economics remove the family now? Gardric was recommending removing the light Vle completely; Taréz’ own suggestion, martial law, hadn’t improved the situation much; what could stabilize the situation now?
“Yis? Do you have any recommendations?”
“No, Sire. I must admit the situation baffles me.”
Lajot sighed heavily. “You said the light Vle have closed their banks?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And the miners are still not working?”
“They are not, Sire.”
“Then they won’t mind leaving their jobs for a while.” The King wiped his brow in an amazing show of nerves. Taréz had never seen has father sweat, and even he felt the heat of the gaze of the Chamberlain and Chief together. “From this day until such time as I decide,” proclaimed his father, “all light Vle are to reside in a secure camp somewhere near here, say, within a day’s ride.”
Taréz felt his jaw drop in astonishment, and decided it was not necessary to hide it in present company. “Sire!” Yis exclaimed, while Gardric barely suppressed a triumphant smirk.
“Note well! I do not want any jubilation here, nor feelings of betrayal. Remember, this kingdom is having some problems and I am trying to deal with them as best I can. All those in the camp are to be treated with the utmost respect, and given plenty of food, water, and other supplies. They are guests of the palace, essentially, and I do not want to give them any reason to complain. Is that clear, Chief?!”
“Yes, of course, Sire! All will be as you say.”
“Good. Now, go make the necessary preparations. We’ll be having nearly fifty thousand guests, so the camp will have to be enormous. Get moving.”
“Yes, Sire.” He bowed, and left almost at a trot.
“Sire?” Yis asked uncertainly. “Where— does that leave me?”
The King sighed. Taréz knew he’d come to regard this man as a trusted advisor, if not yet a friend. But he was a friend to Taréz. “Hmm. I guess it would be best to have you as, perhaps, mayor of the camp. I trust you, Yis, so I need you there. Plus, it hardly seems fair to put all but one light Vle in the camp.”
Yis’ face sank to a rather sad expression. Was there anger, as well?
“Yes, Sire. Who will serve as your Chamberlain during my absence?”
“I don’t know, Yis. I need to figure that out. In the meantime, would you help Gardric with the preparations? Perhaps we could divert some of the labor from the South Hall.”
“Of course, Sire.” Both monarchs watched the retreating back of the flaxen-haired Vle. A pall hung in the room, and the prince wondered if his father was really doing the right thing.
But Yis did not leave the room, instead stopping at the door. They watched as, finally, he turned and came striding up to the desk where the king sat. Yis’ face was beet red with an anger Taréz had never before seen. “I cannot believe you would do this! This is a crime, Your Majesty! A crime against Vlehood, and a crime against all mankind! You must reconsider— I demand it!!”
“Yis, what would you have me do? I can’t run a nation with an entire segment revolting against my will! I have to do something, and this is what I came up with.”
“Well, it’s a sorry excuse for a solution! Think, Your Majesty! This is what Gardric wants— control, nullification of light Vle! Are you going to believe him, follow his example, after all he’s done?!”
“Again I ask you, Yis, do I have a choice?”
“YES! That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You can still take back your proclamation, and find another solution.”
“I don’t have the luxury of time, Yis. This issue has to be resolved once and for all.”
Yis threw up his hands in exasperation. “Simply because of some miners who want a better life for themselves!”
“And those scouts on the border, and the bankers, and— you must admit, Yis, your project has been suspiciously dangerous.”
“Your Majesty, you are a racist!”
That hurt, and it wasn’t even directed at Taréz.
“Mr. Thour, I have put up with your second guessing enough! I have made my decision, and it is final! Now, go!”
The chamberlain almost went purple, turned sharply, and went out the door, slamming it. The monarchs watched as the door fell off its broken hinges.

“C’mon, you’ll have to do better than that,” egged the swordmaster.
A drop of sweat dropped off Taréz brow. “You’ve been saying that for years, Fullo. It’s become my mantra, only I hear it in your voice.” He thought he saw an opening, and swiped, but instead felt the wrist-twisting jar of the swordmaster’s sword.
“Tsk, tsk, you’re predictable. You never swipe in the middle of a sentence!”
Burn it! That ‘opening’ had been an illusion!
“Your Highness! Official business!”
Taréz turned to see a dark Vle wearing the sash of a messenger coming up the steps to the sparring platform. “Official business? My father is unavailable?”
“Yes, Your Highness. The chamber guard did not explain why.”
“Ah.” The prince tried not to think about what that meant, but he used chamber guards the same way sometimes after a ball. “The message is?”
“The Duke of Creaz reports the miners are revolting.”
“Revolting? Why?”
“They demand more pay.”
“More pay?! Metal prices aren’t exactly the greatest right now. We’re about to... Oh, never mind. I’d better save the discussion for the King. The parchment, please? Thank you. The chamberlain should be near the south wing."
The messenger bowed, and left to collect his fee from Yis.
Taréz put the parchment on a bench with his cloak picked up his sword and crouched in the basic ready position, but shook his head as the swordmaster responded in kind. “No, my mind’s not going to be in this. I’ll need to read this over at least twice before I present it to Father.”
“Oh, but now is the perfect time to practice. You have something big to put out of your mind.” And with that, he attacked.

Twice more that week, there was news of border incursions, and the miner’s riots continued. Finally, the King called a conference with his most trusted advisors. They included the Chief, of course, as well as the Chamberlain; the Librarian, who knew exactly what previous kings did in similar situations; and finally, Taréz.
“It would appear from first glance,” began the King, “that Gardric’s paranoia about the Light Vle of the east is not so unfounded as I thought. The South Hall incidents can be attributed to mere accident. The miners might well have a legitimate gripe. But it’s a little harder to simply write off a border incursion as a mistake. However, I find it difficult to believe that any of our neighbors should seek— or risk— war against us for any reason. Meanwhile, war is the last thing I want, however strong we are or how willing we want to appear to be. Ours is a position of peace. Peace is profitable—”
“And the light Vle are endangering that profit!” The Chief interjected.
“I beg your pardon, Chief.” Yis Thour spoke softly, but the color of his face belied the hot emotions within. Not for the first time, the King was glad his own skin was dark enough to hide his emotions.
Gardric was terse in his reply. “Pardon me.”
“Yis, can you see any reason that King Baran would wish to make war on us? Keep in mind the trouble we’ve had in the east.”
“I cannot imagine any reason to violate the borders of the great Kingdom of Larmania.”
Gardric harumphed “Nor I. Sire, did you really expect a different answer?”
“Sire,” countered Yis, “I am your chamberlain, loyal to you. I tell you in all honesty—”
The King cut him off. “Yes, Yis, I believe you.” Taréz knew Yis’ speech to actually have been intended for the Chief. “I sent a letter by pigeon to the ambassador, to inquire as to his knowledge of these incursions. I was particularly surprised by his response, which I shall read for you:
“‘I, Noert, do solemnly swear by the honor of His Majesty, King Baran the sixth of Varmac, that the information provided below is true to the best of my knowledge.’ Gardric, I don’t need a comment on that.
“‘I have heard of captures of Varmacian scouts; news of these events have put the citizens of my country on edge. However, it is the assertion of our military leaders that no border crossing was ever made, and that in order to have made these captures, Larmanian scouts must have crossed to our side. Plus, the right of notice of capture has apparently not been extended to the scouts, for no word of them has been received since the beginning of their shift.
“‘Please, Your Majesty, I implore you to free our men. They have done no harm in any way to your country or people. This I ask in the interest of continued peace. Sincerely, Noert Hieman, Ambassador of Varmac to the Kingdom of Larmania.’ Now, we have two different stories here, both claiming that no one crossed the border. Who am I to believe?”
“I think it’s significant, Father, that he did not refute the existence of the scouts, nor their proximity to the border.”
“It’s rather difficult for them to do that, now,” said Gardric. “We have living proof.”
“Good that you’ve kept them alive, Gardric. However, they could also have denied the existence of the scouts and thus made it seem that our troops made a much larger incursion.”
“That would be foolish. It would make their border seem weaker.”
Taréz had to concede the point, and knew his father had to as well.
“Furns? What is your take on the situation?” he asked the librarian.
“As you may be aware, border incursions have been common throughout our history. However, the usual response has simply been to attack, which in all cases led to full-out war. I think that is no longer an option.”
“Agreed,” replied the King. “Is there no precedent for a peaceful resolution?”
“I’m afraid not, Your Majesty. For one thing, early on, previous incursions were of the cattle-raid type— anything lesser would have gone unnoticed. Later, once the Gardrics took office, the response was so swift and bloody that our neighbors quickly learned not to mess with us.”
“I know. But that’s hardly an appropriate response, now.”
Gardric’s response was predictable. “But, your Majesty! We must attack! The security of our people is at stake!”
“Father, may I suggest something? What if we declare martial law?”
“Martial law? I’m not familiar with the term.”
“It’s when government is conducted by the military,” informed the librarian. “All comings and goings are strictly controlled by soldiers, so that everyone’s location is accounted for at all times.”
“That would help solve the riot problem,” continued Taréz, “and if the Varmacians ever get serious, we’ll have our forces ready for a response.”
“That does sound like a good plan. Very well: Gardric, confer with Furns on the details of martial law. We will declare it in all duchies with light Vle percentages greater than one-third of the population. Taréz, I want you to convene a conference of the lords so that they will understand what we’re doing and why. Yis, I’d like you to arrange a conference between King Baran and I next week at the latest.”
“Yes, Sire. I hope you’re doing the right thing.”
“By the Great Master, Yis, so do I.”

Prince

Taréz headed up to his father’s chambers, report in hand. He paused, eyebrows up a shade, when he discovered Gardric was there— Taréz would have expected him to have made the report the day before. “...evidence is a bit sketchy,” the king was saying.
“Of course, Sire. It would have been counter-productive to use torture techniques.” The prince stifled a chuckle as he entered the room. Sure— no sense in delaying the project by tying up the laborers. He stepped sideways to stand beside the door, choosing to just listen, rather than interrupt by making his presence known to Gardric.
“Indeed. Do you have a plan formulated?” asked the King.
“Quite simple, Sire. Replace all light Vle with dark counterparts.”
“Simple?! It would require finding artisans with skills matching those of the light Vle. You know we tend to work with different materials.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Do you have another plan in mind? Do you think there is a way to find light artisans whom we can trust?”
“That... would be difficult, Sire.” A surprisingly indirect response since all knew Gardic really meant a flat ‘no.’
“Well, thank you for this report. If I think I need you to take any action, I’ll let you know. Dismissed.”
“Very well, Sire.” He bowed, backed a few steps, and then turned to leave the room. “Your Highness! I was unaware of your presence.”
“Think nothing of it, but do give the spymaster my regards. You flatter his ability to train me.”
“Hmph! Lirok, flattered? Not in our lifetimes. By your leave?”
“Of course.”
Once he was gone, Fylen observed, “Determined, isn’t he? It’s a good thing his family isn’t on the throne. He’d have the whole light race eradicated in a dozen years.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. I know he wishes I’d order him to do it.”
“Maybe we need to start a new dynasty in command of the Army.”
“But he’s too good to lose. Do you know of anyone worthy?” Lajot asked Taréz.
“No.”
“Neither do I. Well, I assume you now have your report to present.”
“I do,” Taréz replied, handing over the parchment he carried. “May I ask what Gardric had to say?”
“Read for yourself.”
So Taréz did. It reported a number of surprising things, mostly involving the (alleged) association of some of the masons and carpenters with (alleged) radical groups of the east. Gardric had put together an elaborate picture of a plot to make a hole in the wall, enabling a strike force to move in, a force possibly composed of the light Vle masons and carpenters themselves. It depended upon certain of the (alleged) associates being in the right place at the right time; and despite their own testimony, Gardric had placed them just where their ‘skills’ were needed.
Interestingly, Taréz had heard some of the same light Vle’ names in association with labor and civil groups of the east, only he did not consider these a danger. There were indeed some coincidences in location or task at the time of the accident, but not nearly as many as Gardric alleged. However, he could not conclude that it was a conspiracy of sabotage, for he had not found enough evidence.
“You don’t seem to have made up your mind here,” Lajot observed.
“No, Father. What’s there is tantalizing, but every time I followed up a lead, it dried up and led nowhere. So, as much as I’d like to say there was no conspiracy, I can’t conclude there wasn’t one.”
“You know this doesn’t look good.”
“Father?”
“Well, I have a ranting report by Gardric that advises getting rid of every light Vle on the project, and your report can’t refute it. What can I do now? It would be much easier if you had given me a negative report.”
“I know, Father. I’m sorry.”
“No fault of yours. Thank you for your work.”
“Of course, Father.”

Later that same day, Taréz was in the Library, reading biographies of previous Gardrics. Were they all so paranoid? Suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise from somewhere in the palace, and the room shook. A creak and a long screech followed from next door. His father’s voice bellowed a bone-chilling yell, and Taréz heard what could only be the chandelier landing on the table.
All this in the time it took for him to leap to the door the Library shared with the music chamber. His father, unhurt, stood at the far end, a pile of shattered crystal between them. Taréz took a breath, and calmed his nerves, even as his father did the opposite: The frozen face heated and contorted in rage.
“Yis!!” The monarch turned and marched outside, and Taréz prayed a little prayer for any innocent in the large Vle’s path. Then, he turned back and went through the library to follow his father, whose yelling for the Chamberlain could be heard throughout the palace. “Yis!!”
The chamberlain met them near the connection with the addition, embarrassment coloring his face. “Yes, Sire!”
“Report!”
“A miscalculation, Sire. We did not prepare adequately for the weight of the stone, and the ground shifted.” He paused. “You seem shaken, Sire. Is everything okay inside?”
“No,” Lajot answered tersely. “The Library chandelier just missed my head a moment after your ‘accident.’”
Now the red faded to leave the pale-faced Vle whiter than parchment.
“Sire! Are you hurt? This is more serious than—”
“No, I’m fine,” the King growled. “Still, it seems odd.”
Yis pursed his lips. “The plaster is quite old in the Library, Sire, probably the oldest in the building. It is likely to be loose.”
“Then why wasn’t it secured earlier?! Make sure this gets fixed as soon as possible, and I do not want another accident!”
“Of course, Sire!”
The King stormed away to his chamber. Taréz gave a look of concern for his friend and turned to go back to the library. Along the way, he met the Chief, who was accompanied by two of his men. They were dragging a light Vle by the arms, loudly complaining about mistreatment. “Sire!” said Gardric, and all came to smart attention.
“Gardric! What is the meaning of this?”
“This spy was discovered near my office. It is my belief that he was attempting to kill me.”
“Kill you?! Who in his right mind would try to kill you?”
“Sire, as you might imagine, I have many enemies among the light Vle.”
“You certainly haven’t made any friends among them. What evidence do you have that he is a spy, not a simple artisan?”
“He was carrying this, Sire.” Gardric held up a tool of some sort, a simple metal shaft with a wooden handle, and a pointed end. Taréz had only a foggy notion of what its purpose was. Something for leather?
“It’s just a leather awl!” complained the prisoner. “I’m the cobbler
whom the chamberlain commissioned to make the relief at the end of the second floor conference room! Please! Just ask him!”
“You can bet we will,” said Gardric. “Now, let’s go.”
“Hang on,” said the Prince. “What were you doing near his office?”
“I got lost—”
Gardric snorted. “Likely story. Your Highness, you cannot expect to get an honest answer—”
“Let him speak, Gardric!”
“Thank you, Your Highness! I was sent in to find His Majesty the King, or find a servant to find him. I simply got lost and was trying to find my way back—”
“See?” said the Chief. “I cannot accept that story.”
Taréz sighed. “Remand the suspect to my custody.”
“Yes, Your Highness. May I inquire as to what you intend.” The two guards released the Vle, who nervously stepped to away from them, gingerly attaching himself to the prince without violating the royal personal space.
“No. But if he leaves my side, I’ll give the order to have him killed on sight.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Dismissed.” To the artisan, he said, “Come. And don’t you dare relax yet.”
They went and found Yis again, surveying the damage. Nothing had been finished off yet, but any work they had to redo was expensive. “Yis.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Do you vouch for this Vle?”
“I do,” came the reply without hesitation.
“Very well. What was His Majesty needed for?”
“We were wondering if he preferred the Varmacian leather or the Baldian leather.”
“Baldian,” replied Taréz. “If he complains tell him it was my decision. And next time you send someone to find and ask something of my father, send someone who knows their way around.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Now, let’s allow His Majesty some peace today, shall we?” With that, he turned and walked away, not even listening to whatever Yis said in reply.

The Chief rushed into the royal chamber one afternoon of the next week, bowed quickly, and came to attention. “Sire!”
“Yes, Gardric,” replied the King, eyeing him with a little skepticism. Taréz wondered what little crisis was going on this time.
But it seemed more than a little crisis. “I just received word by pigeon that of our eastern mountain patrols have captured a Varmacian scouting troop on our side of the border!”
“What?! That’s impossible— they know that border very well! Your ancestors have taught them for centuries!”
“I know, Sire. It must mean they’re testing our response.”
“Testing our response... That would mean war plans are in the making.”
“That was my conclusion, Sire.”
“The ambassador made no threat of any sort.”
“Of course not, not if he truly wanted to test us.”
“Still, I should think he would have indicated some source of discontent.”
“Why should the light Vle need discontent as an excuse?”
Taréz couldn’t stay out of the conversation any longer. “Oh, be reasonable, Gardric! If they wanted war, they’d have something as an incentive, or reason, and that would prompt annoyance on the part of the ambassador!” He looked to his father to ask the necessary question.
“Are you sure it wasn’t a mistake on the part of your scouts?”
Gardric stiffened. “Sire! My men are without fault!”
“But then, they didn’t have to arrest the scouts. We’re at peace.”
“Tsk, tsk, Taréz. What’s the first rule of border protection?”
“A nation’s reaction to border infractions reflect its willingness for war,” the prince recited. “So, enemies will always test a nation’s resolve in that manner. Said nation can do much to prevent a war it actually doesn’t want by reacting quickly and decisively to any border activity.’ But by the same token, since ‘any action taken can result in a war,’ we may have to back up that appearance of willingness thus created.”
“Exactly,“ replied Gardric, beaming. Taréz knew it was meant as praise, but he simply felt his argument had fallen on deaf ears.
The King clearned his throat. “Very well. I shall draft a letter to the ambassador myself. Have the chamberlain bring a pigeon.”
“Yes, Sire.” Gardric turned sharply and left the room.
“Gardric would never lie to me, Taréz.”
“His honor forbids it.”
“But I can’t believe the Varmacians would make a mistake like that. Now, I have to write to the ambassador and ask for his side of the story.”
“I don’t envy you, Father.”
“One of the hardest things to do is complain to a state official who is also your friend.”
Outside, light and dark Vle continued their work on the South Hall.

Mecora’s house was a relatively small hole in the tree, on the third level above the platform... and since it was a hole, and not extruded, it had only one window and was much cheaper. It did have light pipes, which brought light in, and four rooms. The monk— did he say his name was Hyrom, or Hyran?— would have to sleep in the little fourth one.
Mecora, her mother, her friends, her brothers, and the monk made quite a crowd in the front room. There were only six chairs, so that left a few standing. The monk had to sit, insisted Mecora’s mother.
“No, thank you. Sitting is a big part of my job, so I enjoy standing whenever I can. Truly.”
“You aren’t just being gallant?” asked Mereo.
Mecora’s mother was shocked. “Mereo! You know better than to second guess a monk!”
“Sorry,” she apologized.
“No offense,” assured the monk. “I find officiousness insufferable, so I have no rationale to perpetuate it.”
Mecora could just barely understand what he was saying through all the big words. Of course, he would know them all from all the reading he did.
“Do you have any preferences?” her mom asked from the stove. “I can get something special for your first night here.”
“Oh, please, don’t go to too much trouble. If you eat rice every night, then so will I. Or potatoes. I’m not particular.”
“Well, even we can afford more than rice. Mecora? Would you bring the chicken in?”
Me? thought Mecora. Why me? He’s my guest— make Wedar get it!
“Mecora, don’t look at me that way. He’s your guest.”
“Okay.” She shuffled over to the cool-cabinet, a specially ‘shaped part of the wall they shared with their richer neighbors that kept things cool— or even cold, which is where they kept what little meat they could afford for long periods of time.
This chicken wasn’t really very large, but they’d had to splurge on it. What’s Deschule without a chicken feast? Luckily the party provided lots of food as well, so dividing this one chicken five ways wouldn’t leave them hungry. “Here, Mom.”
“Thank you. What do you think, should I use a berry sauce or a spice sauce?”
“How should I know? You’re the cook of the house!”
“Well, dear, I’m just trying to ask your opinion. Which would you like to treat our guest with?”
“I dunno.” She really had no idea, so she turned to the monk, sitting quietly, politely patient and inspecting the room as he bantered with her friends. “Um, Hyran?”
“Yes?”
“Would you prefer a berry sauce or a spice sauce on your chicken?”
“Oh, well, which is less trouble?”
Her mom shrugged. “They’re just sauces that I’ve got on hand.”
“In that case, Mecora, I think the berry sauce sounds just fine.”
“Okay. Mom?”
“I heard. You know where we keep it.”
“In the cool-cabinet, I know.” She went to get it, deciding that to complain was more trouble than it was worth. She gave it to her mom, and then sat down right on the table right in from of the monk. For some reason, he didn’t look so cute in the dim light of the room, but she was determined to get to know him and not have to cook. “So, what... do you like best about... being a monk?” She had almost asked, ‘What brings you here,’ but that of course was an exceedingly stupid question.
“Mmm, I’m not really sure. I guess I’d have to say the texts I copy— that is, reading them, not the copying. That’s exceedingly boring, but at least I get to meditate on the text.”
“Oh.” Mecora wasn’t really interested in texts, since reading was something really smart but reclusive Vle did. Even so, she asked, “What kinds of things can you read about?”
“Nearly anything you want. Mostly in our library we have theological texts, books about how we think about the Great Master. But what I find interesting are the books about history— and some of them were written right after an event happened! That difference between how we see the past and how they saw it then is so fascinating. And then some books are so old we don’t even really remember the countries or kings they mention.”
“Have you ever read a book about, like, ourselves? I mean, how our bodies work? That’s what I want to know someday.”
“Hmm, I don’t know if we have any books about that. But, I bet if you work really hard, you could earn the money to go to the university.”
“Oh, I don’t want to go to all that trouble, I just want to find someone who can answer my questions.”
The monk shrugged. “There aren’t many who can answer that question yet. But if more did, maybe fewer people would die of disease.”
That surprised Mecora. “But I thought people died because the Great Master was calling them to him.”
“I’m not really sure that’s the case. I mean, why should being called to him be so painful?”
She’d never really thought of that before. And then she realized that this monk, who she’d expected to be perfectly believing and always professing a by-the-book faith, was not. “Do all of you monks think that?”
“Oh, not at all! There are quite a few who would think that what I just said was blasphemous. There’s a whole spectrum of thought up there.”
“But, how can you all get along? I’d think everyone would get into a big long argument.”
“Not at all. For one thing, we’re too nice. And for another, diversity is good. We’re always challenged to rationalize our thoughts, and for some of us, that confrontation strengthens our faith in what we believe. Or we may eventually change our minds.”
“So, why isn’t it the same down here in town? We have to believe perfectly, by the book! It’s really hard!”
“I know. But if you’re trying to be perfect, then you’ll pass on to a higher life when you die. It’s just that part of my job is to help figure out what perfect is even as I try to be so.”
Mecora shook her head in confusion, and decided that it would be easier to try to follow her friends’ conversation. They were on her favorite subject: clothes, of course. “Did you see that vusha-colored silk at Caber’s yesterday?” Handa was saying. “I tried to convince Mom to buy me some, but she wouldn’t. It woulda been perfect for today!”
“Oh, I know! But what about the blue silk next to it? Now that was beautiful! It would go with my yellow blouse so well...” As she talked, she became more and more aware of Hyran listening, but unable to take part. Of course, he couldn’t. All he ever wore were the robes, usually wool. This week, he’d be wearing his white robe the whole time, but that still restricted his selection.
A knock came at the door, and everyone looked to see a young boy. “Mereo! Mom says come home for dinner.”
“Oh! Is it time already?”
“Probably,” said Mecora’s mother. “I’m just about done here, myself.”
“Well, see you later, right?”
“Yeah, Mereo. Meet at our usual spot?”
“Sure. Are you bringing Hyran?”
Oh, yeah. Mecora looked at him. “I dunno. Hyran? Would you like to get drunk with four giggling girls?”
“Well, I don’t drink...”
Her mother brought dinner over and looked right in her eyes. “I’m sure he’d rather enjoy the party from an adult’s point of view.”
“Oh. Right, Mom.” And for inexplicable reason, she felt a pang of jealousy.
“Your mother is probably right. You four can have more fun without me there.”
“Well, we’d better be going too,” said Ueal. “Handa? Would you like to come to my house for dinner?”
“Um, can I come later...” replied Handa as they went out the door. Mereo left after them, with a hurried “See ya later.”
That left just the five of them. “Come on boys, dinner’s ready.”
As usual, her brothers complained. “Aww, can’t we play a little longer?”
“No, we have a guest, and dinner’s ready right now. Put your toys away and wash your hands.”
In fact, everyone decided it was a good idea. Soon they were back at the table, enjoying their small portion....

It seemed like an eternity before dinner was over and she could meet her friends at the statue. However, she was the first there, giving her time to inspect the likeness of the priest who had founded the monastery. The first inhabitants of the town (which was originally on the ground) were the treesculptors who actually built the monastery. It was some centuries, though, before the town moved up into the trees it now occupied.
“Hi!” said a voice. “Waiting for someone?”
Mecora turned to see Fastell, a dark, geeky boy about her age. “Yeah, so you’d better go.” The last thing she wanted was to be seen with him around.
“Oh.” But he didn’t go. “Have you had fun so far? How drunk have you gotten?”
“Yeah, I’ve had fun, but I haven’t gotten drunk enough yet. Now, please, could you go?”
“Yeah. I’d- better go find... my dad.”
“Good idea.” Phew. Sometimes she didn’t know which was worse— the geeks, nice as they were, or the warrior-wanna-be’s who had such an overinflated view of themselves. It seemed that regardless of color, they always fell into one category or the other.
Finally, Ueal and Handa showed up. “Was that Fastell I saw walking away from here?” asked Ueal.
“Oh? I dunno. I didn’t notice.” Would it work? Had they actually seen him talking to her?
But the matter was dropped as Handa asked, “Did you hear they’re having a band play in the plaza?! They actually got a band to play here!”
Mecora shrugged. “What’s the difference? We’ve always had music.”
“But not a traveling band! They’re gonna play the kind of music they’d play in a city!”
“Oh! Well, I just hope we’re not too far behind to catch up.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” boasted Mereo. “I can teach you all the new moves.”
Ueal rolled her eyes. “We’ll see about that! Let’s go!” And the foursome moved off and up a level toward the center of town. The first stop was the first pub.
“I’ll just have a peach wine,” said Handa.
“What?! You’re too young for one of those,” exclaimed Mecora. She took a swig of her beer.
“I am not. I just don’t feel like getting that drunk tonight. There’ll be other nights.”
“We’ll make sure of that, then,” said Ueal. “C’mon, we’re missing the music.”
Back out in the open air, the sounds of strumming and piping could just be heard over the babble of the crowd. Once again, the girls pushed through, meeting friends along the way.
“Hey! Where are you going?” asked one.
“To the front, of course!” was the answer. In this way, their group grew until there were eleven girls right up next to the band.
Mereo took the chance to show off. She danced with every form she knew, and the crowd backed away to watch.
Ueal was not to be outdone, so she joined her friend in the center and danced equally well with a different set of forms. Mecora just watched, and wondered who to emulate. Certainly, Mereo’s forms came from the east and Ueal’s from the south, where their people’s strongholds were, and both seemed exotic. But Ueal was a very good dancer— sinuous and muscular, she made dancing an art form.
Well, that was true in Mecora’s eyes. She knew there were better dancers, who were older. But Ueal was destined for greatness.
Mecora plucked up some courage and joined them, doing her best to copy some of the moves. It wasn’t easy, since she’d never done them before, and because the strong beer was getting to her. Finally, the song ended, and the circle broke. “Phew!” she said. “Let’s go get another beer.”
The other girls, sweating a bit, agreed, so they pushed through the crowd again. Along the way, they saw some boys, practicing some of the moves. Mereo laughed. “Boys! They’re so clumsy!”
“Well, maybe they’re just drunk,” suggested Handa.
“Hmph!” said Mecora. “Boys are so clumsy they’re better dancers when drunk.”
“Not that one.” Handa pointed to an older boy in a blue shirt, as light as Mereo and dancing so hard his sweaty hair spun droplets into the air. The girls watched for a moment, then pressed on.
The bartender served up another round without a word, and the girls rested as best they could on their feet. Mecora wished for a place to sit, but there simply wasn’t one.
Or was there? Wasn’t that an open spot? She had to hurry. As the other girls asked her where she was going, she pushed through toward that stool. Closer, closer, and then she stumbled, spilling what remained of her drink. Up again, she pushed closer.
But all she found was a wall. She turned around to go back—
And found she couldn’t see her friends anymore. They were at the bar, she remembered, and she did her best to push through, stumbling twice this time. Sure enough, there they were.
“Where did you go?” asked Mereo.
“I though’ I, uh, saw a, um, uh, what do you call, it, a, place to sit?”
“Stool,” replied Ueal. Then, she hiccuped. “You missed another round of drinks, you know.”
“No problem.” She had no trouble getting another one, and was back quite quickly. “See?”
“But we’re almost done, already.”
Mecora thought. How to fix that? She guzzled her beer down to a quarter full. “So’m I.”
“Shall we go out and dance again?”
“Sure.”
All eleven (or so— had the group grown some more?) drank what was left in the glasses and put them down somewhere. There really wasn’t much space left for more, but there was a little boy around, collecting them as fast as he could manage.
It seemed easier to push through the crowd this time, maybe because it was thinner. They danced, and danced, and danced. In fact, Mecora didn’t even remember stopping.

It was surprisingly bright out, and the bed was surprisingly hard. It took her a while to figure out why: she’d never made it home. Her head felt like a tree had fallen on her head, but there was no tree on her, and she was still on the platform. The band was gone, as was much of the crowd, but her friends (even Handa!) were still there.
Handa rolled over. “Good morning, sunshine. How do you feel?”
“How do you think? And please, don’t yell.”
“I’m not. I’m whispering.”
“I suppose you feel just fine.”
Handa shrugged. “Like I said last night, I didn’t feel like getting drunk. Don’t worry, I won’t lay a guilt trip or anything.”
“Thanks. Could you please get me some willow bark tea?”
“Of course.” She got up, and moved softly in the direction of her mother’s chemist shop. Meanwhile, others of the group woke up. Mereo woke up with a whimper.
“Oh, I must have danced too hard last night!”
And that got a number of complaints, including from Ueal, in the theme of “Quit yelling!”
“Sorry,” Mereo whispered, and slowly crawled over to Mecora, who sat waiting patiently for her arrival. “I need some willow bark tea, but I can’t even stand up to go there.”
“Handa’s getting it,” Mecora replied with a small smile. “You know, I think this whole thing was invented by her mother.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Mereo replied, and then thought differently. “No, I’d better not.”
Far away, almost beyond Mecora’s blurred vision, Handa came out of the chemist’s and headed their way. “Here she comes,” Mecora alerted, and everyone looked that direction. Handa walked as quietly as ever, as if she weighed thirty leabers less than she did. She arrived, flask and clay cups in hand, and bent her knees gently. “Mom gave me this flask so that I could sell as much as I could,” she explained. “But for you, it’s free.” She poured some for the three, and then turned to everyone else. “One bit, one cup,” she announced softly, and distributed it to those who happened to have the amount she was asking.
The tea worked quickly at first, allowing them to shuffle home to get more sleep.

The week went by quickly, during which time the monk began to seem like a fixture. The exception was at mealtime, when the money and the food went faster than normal. And Mecora never liked the effect he had on her mother.
The morning of the ninth day of Deschule, she woke alone in her bed, as usual. Her mother always got up early to fix breakfast, but lately she’d never started it before Mecora got up.
She tossed the covers aside and stood, pulling on a simple shift. Then, she shuffled into the front room, stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Good morning.”
Hyran was there at the table, facing her, while her mother had her back to the cold stove. “Good morning, Mecora.” She loved the way he said her name so gently.
“What would you like for breakfast?” asked her mother. “I got some flour, so maybe we could have flatcakes.”
“Would you mind if I cooked?” asked Hyran. “It’s the least I could do as thanks for your generosity this week.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Yes, you could. Just sit there and relax.” With amazement, Mecora watched as the monk stood and walked confidently over to the stove. He took the container of flour and measured some out; then he took a pair of eggs from his robe and mixed it in. “Mecora, would you mind getting some milk?”
“Okay.” For some reason, she was more energetic now, watching this man expertly wield a stirring spoon. But she wondered why he was starting the recipe before the fire inside was stoked. She handed him the milk, and he added it without even measuring it. Then, he pulled some small bottles from his robe, and added some drops from them. The mix now smelled quite sweet.
He put the mix aside, and bent down to open the stove. Into the darkness, he tossed a small ball. When it bounced, it burst into flame, and the fire was going. Then, it was a simple matter of pouring the mix onto the griddle and waiting for it to cook.
Mecora couldn’t believe it, and then saw how transfixed her mother was. Father had never cooked, claiming it was a woman’s job. Obviously, it wasn’t, and Mom definitely admired Hyran’s ability. Another odd pang of jealousy hit her. She hid it.
Her brothers came out in time to sample the first flatcake, lured by the good smell. They simply ate quietly, while she, her mother and the monk talked. Mostly, it was a competition— to see who could keep his attention longest.
Finally, breakfast was over. Hyran stood, bowed, and said, “Thank you, for this opportunity to spend the week with you. I wish you the best of luck in your life. Mecora—”
Her heart jumped when he said her name.
“— I can see an important future for you, one which holds wonders you cannot yet imagine. Just remember that you have what it takes to do what you want to do, become what you want to become. You may need it. And please, any of you— if you feel like writing, feel free. I enjoy letters from town.”
“I’ll write,” Mecora volunteered enthusiastically. Then, she felt foolish under her mother’s gaze.
Hyran only smiled and bowed again. “Goodbye, and thanks again.”
“Goodbye!”
Thereafter the house seemed so empty...