It was on Eighthday when Gardric usually returned to relax at the palace, but he came on Seventhday that week— with more bad news. He brought Taréz into the library.
“Something big, Gardric?”
The Chief only nodded as he pulled out a map, and spread it across the table. Taréz recognized it as a closeup of their border with A’peine. It wasn’t long, but it was important.
“The crosses are confirmed enemy positions, and their color indicates nation of origin. Note how many red ones there are. Those are Varmacians.”
The King used his finger to count the red crosses, versus the green ones— A’peinese. The numbers were about equal, with a few scattered blue ones, which were the token Zvaljan force.
“Curious. It looks as though they intend to attack from there, but that’s foolishness. I’d attack a number of our valley positions first. If they attack there, we’ll have them surrounded.” Taréz paused. “Is it possible they’re just practicing together?”
“Not the way they’re getting so close to the border. They’ve got scouts who are obviously looking for the best routes through the mountains, and the best fallback positions. Especially ones on our side.”
“Hmm. So under no circumstances should we chase them into the mountains, but let them come at us.”
“Very astute, Your Highness. But that bothers me.”
“Why?”
“That’s not an offensive tactic, exactly. It’s an... occupation tactic, meant to keep us busy.”
“They intend an invasion from somewhere else?”
“Apparently.”
Taréz didn’t have to think too long about who. “The Pulinians and the Kamileans.”
“That was my thought, as well. But now, we have to rush a scouting expedition to try to figure out, on the sea, where the intended landing point is, and hope to have a detachment there in time.”
The King looked shocked. “By the Great Master! Make it so.”
“I cannot guarantee we’ll be there in time. We may lose a significant size territory before we can counter-attack.”
“I understand. Send pigeons to warn the lords on both of those fronts. They can be there sooner.”
“I’ve already taken that liberty, Sire.”
“Good. Let’s now just hope they’ll support me.”
Gardric looked surprised. “You have reason to believe they would not?”
“They boycotted the ball.”
“A social comment does not mean lack of military support.”
“Come now, Gardric, you know better than to count on something when there’s a chance you can’t.”
“Of course, Sire.”
“In the meantime, send everyone in the camp home. I’ll send apologies post haste by pigeon.”
“Sire! I will do nothing of the sort!”
“Burn it! Why not?!” Taréz admired his father’s reserve. Gardric had just refused an order! On second thought, the reserve was not a strong tactic in this case.
“Sire! Our... guests, as you call them, can be a barganing chip. We have their lives on their hands. If our neighbors attack, we can counter with deaths in the camp.”
“Chief, I have never heard something so cowardly in my life! Those are families we’ve got, not soldiers! By the Great Master!” Much better, Father, Taréz thought.
“Excuse me, Sire, I only thought—”
“No, you didn’t think. Remember I told you that my conscience is also yours? You would do well to remember that.”
“I would still suggest we keep them in camp.”
“For what reason?”
“Returnees can give valuable information to invading armies, as well as allow access to the homes of our own citizens.”
Burn it! The Chief of the Army was right again.
“Very well, they stay. But I do not want to hear of a single death, is that clear? Not from you, not from anyone else there!”
“Of course, Sire.”
“Good. Now... You’d better prepare us for war. Dismissed.”
The Chief stood, rolled up his map, and left the library just as Stecky came in. “Sire?”
“Yes, Stecky. Did you find anything?”
“No, Sire. The cupro is all green.”
“Worthless.”
“Yes, Sire. And there is nothing else of appreciable worth.”
“Very well. From this point onward, my fund is the camp fund. Make sure it is used for quick improvements.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And, also, draft a letter to our northern neighbors. We may need their help badly, if we have to fight five nations all at once.”
“Of course.”
“Dismissed.”

It was only two days later that Taréz met Stecky headed upstairs with a message in hand. “Your Highness,” he said, bowing. “This just arrived for the King.”
“Aren’t all messages supposed to go through Gardric?” the Prince asked facetiously.
“W-well, y-yes, but... he’s not here, and... time constraints...”
“Relax, I’m glad you’re taking them directly to my father.”
“Actually, this is the first one I’ve dared be direct with. It comes from Yis.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll take it myself.”
“That would make me feel much better, Sire.” The acting chamberlain handed over the message and bowed his exit.
Taréz went on up to the royal chambers, inspecting it as he went. Yis’ seal still carried the symbol of the chamberlain. Arriving at the door, he walked in with nary a knock. “Father, a message.”
“Thank you,” the King replied, and looked at the small roll a moment before breaking the seal. His face twitched a moment, and then he broke the wax. “Hmm! The writing does not belong to Yis.
“Your Majesty,
“This is a note to inform you without bias of today’s events. It carries the chamberlain’s seal so that it may pass with less suspicion, and to ensure your equanimity.
“Construction still does not equal the pace of arrivals, and the crowding is severe. This has caused many problems, and a number today decided to complain. We of the guard did not take this kindly, and the situation escalated to a full protest. The Chief ordered that all light Vle involved be summarily executed. Some were indeed killed, but Yis bargained for the lives of those remaining. They now sit on the roof of the newest completed building, chained as an example to others.
“I hope this note finds you well. I continue to be your most loyal and faithful servant,
Major Skigby.”
A Major had written the letter, Taréz noted— putting himself at no little risk. Gardric did not deal lightly with those in his army who presumed to disagree with his decisions, and a Major could be singled out. Still, he was glad of the information.
“Stecky!” his father called loudly.
The palace attaché arrived at the door within moments. “Sire?”
“Get Gardric here today.”
“Sire, it is getting dark—”
“I know, but this can’t wait. And once you’ve sent the ‘invite,’ I want you to copy the text of this letter, but without the name at the bottom.” He had a thought. “In fact, I won’t even let you read who wrote it, so you won’t be in danger.” The King took the letter and tore off the end where it was signed. Then, he handed the letter to the waiting Vle.
“Yes, Sire.” Stecky hurried off.
The King sighed. “You’d think Gardric would reward me for making this stupid Proclamation by at least treating the lights with a little respect. Thank the Great Master I put Yis in a position of power. My estimation of that Vle rises by the day.”
“King Renwar gave you a wonderful gift.”
“He did, indeed.” The King paused. “Attend when Gardric and I have our talk. We’ll wait for him in the Library.”
“The Library?”
“Your mother will want to be up here in the chamber. It’ll be evening before Gardric arrives.”
“Okay, Father.” Taréz stifled a sigh.

It was indeed well after dark when Gardric arrived. “Yes, Sire, you wished to see me?” he said when he entered the library.
“Indeed, Chief. I received an interesting report today.”
A flicker of uncomfort crossed the stony face and disappeared. “From..?”
“The camp. Here’s a copy. It concerns an uprising among my light-skinned subjects. Apparently construction is still not keeping pace with arrivals.”
“No, Sire. It... is difficult for the workers to work among the tight conditions.”
“I imagine so. Still, I wonder that either you still do not have enough workers or they aren’t working fast enough. The last, however, I doubt, since I would think they’d want to work fast to improve their lot. The design is two storied, is it not?”
“Uh, no, Sire, I had not considered—”
“Well, do so now. If it’s as crowded as the report indicated, one floor each will not be enough. And I want that wall extended!”
“It has been—”
“More, Gardric! I’m tired of your obfuscation and excuses. You were never so obtuse before, and I don’t want it from you now. Now tell me, what’s this about your bloody treatment of an uprising?!”
“It was a dangerous situation, Sire. It could not be allowed to continue. The lives of my soldiers were in jeopardy.”
“I have a feeling they wanted some discussion, Chief, not blood. Are you that war-thirsty, that you look for battles where there are none? What really concerns me is the lives your men took, and those you have sitting chained on a roof.”
“Sire.... your informativeness stuns me. I assure you, operatives of your own inside my organization are unnecessary...”
“Up to now, I am confident they have been. No, I don’t have an informant of my own, merely the good luck of there being an Vle under you with a conscience. The report was merely factual and without bias. I called you here because I didn’t care to wait for your report. I need you to fix the situation tomorrow. I want those who are chained released, and the families of those who lost their lives will be compensated when this whole mess is over.”
Gardric stiffened. “Yes, Sire. However, more uprisings may require stiffer responses.”
“No, the next uprising will require dialogue. The one after that— well, we’ll let them out.”
“Sire?!”
“I’m tired of this mess, Gardric. The only reason they’re still there is because you continue to bring or send reports of violent or counter-productive activity on the part of the light Vle remaining outside. You may be having fun, but I’m not, and until you’re King— fat chance, as you know— you’ll just have to deal with my conscience just as I do.”
“Of course, Sire. Your command is my law.”
“Now, go get some sleep so you can be energetic for carrying out my commands tomorrow. Dismissed.”
Gardic bowed low, and left.
The King stared out the door for a few moments. Taréz gave him a few more before asking, “What’s on your mind?”
“Money.”
“Still no luck finding the funds for the camp?”
“No. Wait, maybe I can find them in the books!”
“Father, when was the last time you’ve even looked at the books?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever looked at them. But I remember being taught something about accounting back when I was young... younger than you, in fact. And just beginning my reign. They simply haven’t been necessary, because I’ve always had a chamberlain to do it for me. Now, the tables of figures are on the desk just outside these chambers. Somewhere in there must be an answer.” He heaved himself to his feet and went out to that desk, Taréz following with curiosity. The younger Vle had had the same accounting lessons much more recently, and had actually worked with the books, but he let his father have his moment.
It took some searching, but the King finally found the page that listed the various funds the Kingdom had and what they currently contained. There was one for emergencies, such as fires, tornadoes, or earthquakes; there was his own, and finally the building fund. That last had nothing in it.
“The emergency fund, Father?”
“Well, though it looks healthy enough to stop adding to it, I think would be best to leave it as it is.”
“That leaves your own funds.” The fund used for new coaches, new robes, new thrones, ball expenses, palace repair, gilding replacement... Would his father be able to give that up?
“No. There has to be something else somewhere, a stash long forgotten... Stecky!”
As always, the young Vle appeared as if by magic. “Yes, Sire?”
“Get the librarian. Ask him if there’s any record anywhere of a stash of gold or platin... or even cobilum! that hasn’t been touched in years, or accounted for.”
“Yes, Sire.” Stecky bowed, and dashed off.
“You know,” the King remarked, “he definitely would make a good chamberlain, if he’d ever grow up.” He turned back to the books. “Maybe there’s a trace of an out-pay that I’m not familiar with, to a fund that I don’t remember. You know, I wish I hadn’t been ruling for so long, so that there’d more likely be something my father had neglected to mention, something no one remembered...”
“Unless perhaps your father did have a personal fund separate from the normal personal palace fund.”
The King was in motion, tearing through each page twice, looking at every line pertaining to the King’s funds. “Nothing.”
“Not in that book, Father, that’s just for this year. You’d have to find the books for the very beginning of your reign.”
“Well, I did discover something.”
“What’s that?” Taréz was confused.
“The economy is slipping far worse than I had previously thought. Hmm... the librarian hasn’t come up yet. Shall we go look for him?”
Taréz just shrugged, so they went downstairs to the library. There, they found the old Vle poring over a large number of dusty tomes, scrolls and even laquered wooden tablets with marks that the King couldn’t begin to decipher. “Well?” inquired the elder.
Furns didn’t reply, didn’t even seem to be aware that the King was there. The King tried again. “Furns! Have you found anything?”
The old man was startled, enough that he dropped one of the tomes. “Sire! I didn’t see you there.”
“So I noted. Anything?”
“I have only found one possibility so far, Sire. It seems your great grandfather stockpiled some cupro in the sub-cellar. However, it doesn’t detail where, or how much. Worse, I’m afraid I’m almost finished with every record we still have.”
“Perhaps we’ll find something else when we search the cellars. Is there any record of the current contents of the rooms down there?”
“But, of course. Yis made sure an inventory was taken every year.”
“Really? Why? Is it used that often?”
“No. It is simply so that staff is less likely to think they can take something without it being noticed.”
“However, they can easily take it while they’re counting,” the King countered.
“This is true, except Yis had always made sure he’s down there counting with them.”
“Hmm. Let’s take a look.”
Furns took a large, old book from a shelf and opened it on the table. “Note here that your illustrious ancestor Lajot the 21st took roughly one third of all cupro taxes for his very own. That wasn’t long after cupro’s usefulness was discovered, and he hoped to earn lots of money by restricting the supply and selling his share when the supply was low. Unfortunately, he died only a few years later.”
“So, his stockpile is not likely to be large.”
“No, and recent advances in mining have made it more plentiful. It won’t be worth much.”
“Still, it’s something. What else is there?”
“Oh, an old coach, a few platin bars, some cobilum statues—”
“Ew,” said Taréz.
“Yes, they were put down there after the metal lost popularity. As I was saying, there’s also a stockpile of old weapons, some human iron armor, and some old furniture, but nothing of much value. May I inquire, Your Majesty, as to the reason for your interest?”
“This camp is bankrupting the nation, and it may mean giving up my own personal fund.”
“I see. Well, we could sell all of this, but I doubt it will do much for your reputation or image. Plus, buyers may well know how desperate you are.”
“You’re advising me to use my fund?”
“I cannot advise you in this, Sire. I am a mere librarian.”
“Thanks. Stecky!”
Once again, the young Vle appeared in moments. “Yes, Sire?”
“Organize a search party. I want to know how valuable our stockpile of cupro is.”
“Right away, Sire.”

Prince

The Chief rushed into the royal chambers, and the Prince barely suppressed a groan. “What now, Gardric?”
“Sire, it’s a matter of grave importance! Is the King near?”
“He’s riding horseback in his forest. In the meantime, I’m listening.”
“Someone has attacked the port of Hantas! Nearly half of the docked boats burned, on the east end of the port. There was nothing my officials could do but cut the others on the west end loose. Some of those were lost, as well.”
“Hantas...” Taréz tried to picture the place in his mind, but remembered he hadn’t ever been there. “That’s a port town on the north shore, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And it’s roughly half light and half dark?”
“Yes, Sire. It is noteworthy that the burned ships were nearly all owned by the dark citizens.”
“Ah. And so, the drifting boats were owned by light Vle?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“One might say that the tactic of cutting them loose was an unnecessary act of revenge.”
“Revenge is rarely unnecessary.”
“I thought you might say so.” Taréz paused. “How did your subordinates respond?”
“Well, they immediately declared martial law, of course. All light Vle were summarily rounded up and sent on their way.”
Taréz pursed his lips. On the face of it, it was the best response. Still...
The Librarian entered. “I understand there was another event today?”
Gardric rounded on him. “How did you know?”
“Chief, it’s written in your stance and stride when you arrive with big news. The servants notice things like that. Now, about that event?”
“The port of Hantas suffered arson. The boats owned by dark Vle were burned, while most of those owned by light Vle were saved.”
Furns scribbled it all down, and then paused, looking up. “How did it happen that light Vle boats remained safe?”
“Different side of the harbor.”
“Indeed?”
The prince perked up— it seemed the librarian didn’t quite believe the story.
The old Vle continued. “That’s very interesting. Why should a harmonious town segregate their boats?”
The Chief shrugged. “How should I know? I simply received the report from my subordinate. He didn’t comment on the sociology of the town.”
“Oh, it was a rhetorical question— I didn’t expect you to know. Now, I suppose that the light Vle may have preferred a different design, requiring different size docks... Yes, that would be possible... Very well. Thank you. Sire?”
“Dismissed,” Taréz said. Normally, it was with a smile, but this time he was too deep in thought to smile.

Taréz took his accustomed spot before the ball to watch the guests arrive. It was rather depressing, because a drastically reduced number of guests would be there that evening, according to Stecky. This was the one he’d been waiting for for a month, but now he dreaded it.
All were fashionably late, of course, and there was the usual sudden clump of coaches in the drive. The clump itself, however, was smaller, and he noted the lack of any southern or eastern nobles. Some may indeed have had the excuse of not being able to afford to come, but certainly not Varabia. It was a message of non-support.
The King’s sigh floated down from upstairs shortly before the first of the nobles entered. They received their greetings from Stecky, and filed into the ballroom. The chamber orchestra then struck up the music.
But it wasn’t the best music, Taréz noted as his parents came out onto the balcony. Some of the usual company were currently ‘camping’; others had quit in protest of the proclamation. They had been some of the best in the land.
“Welcome,” the King said to those assembled below (all dark-skinned, of course). “I know that we all have things weighing heavily on our minds. Some of us may feel that it is hardly right to have this ball at all. In part, that is precisely why I held it anyway. This is, after all, the season of Grange, when we celebrate our joys, and leave behind our worries. So let’s do exactly that! I now pronounce this ball— Granged!” He said it with a fervor which Taréz felt he probably did not have.
The chamber orchestra was supposed to hit a loud, high, triumphant note, but they missed their cue and came in late. Taréz could see a shadow of despair and disgust on his parents’ faces. But from that note, they went on into the first song, and a few began to dance. Taréz looked around for Pimber, but another young nobleman had already asked the favor of a dance. He had every right and power to cut in, but chose not to, and found another young noblewoman.
It was more than a little strange to be out on the dance floor this time, however. For one thing, there was plenty of room to spin his partner around. On the other hand, he felt everyone’s eyes on him. Oh, they always watched the Prince of the kingdom, but somehow the press of Vle on a busy dancefloor made the watching imperceptible. Now, he felt as if he was putting on a show, a show of festivity that no one else wanted to join.
After ten songs, (and before he could get around to Pimber) the chamber orchestra took their first break. It was normally the first opportunity for some to leave early if they so wished. Taréz watched as two left, followed by a few more, and then a whole group left. Finally, everyone was walking out before the chamber orchestra even came back.
“Pimber, a moment?”
She looked back at him, with an apologetic look. “Another time, Taréz.” And she stepped out the door, leaving the hall empty.

It wasn’t exactly a princely thing to do, but Taréz slumped in his chair. The royal chambers were quiet in the absence of his mother, who was away on vacation in Baldia. Yis was still at the camp with the rest of the light Vle; and so was Gardric, who had seemingly set up a permanent base there.
He stood up and went to the window. Outside, the South Hall sat waiting to be completed, its funds and constructors diverted to the camp. It was another beautiful, sunny day, and a number of his servants were outside in the gardens and enjoying the warm sun. Without guests, there wasn’t much to do; with the army on alert or guarding the camp, there was no one to train with.
In fact, the only thing he could think of to do was go to the camp and visit Yis again. At least the driver would have something to do. He looked over at his father, still slumped on his own chair. “I was thinking we should go visit the camp.”
“The camp? No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“I think you need to see it, Father. See what you’ve created.”
“How can I face Yis?”
“Like a Vle.”
“Ouch! You win. Call the driver.”
The servant was on the lawn below, so Taréz opened the window. “Driver! Ganning!”
The middle-aged Vle was startled, and it took a moment before he was looking in the right direction. “Yes, Sire!”
“I’m going to the camp.”
“Yes, Sire, I’ll have the coach ready in half an hour—”
“Ten minutes max, Driver.”
“Yes, Sire.” The man dashed toward the door, then back for his coat, and then inside.
Taréz felt a bit better, now that there was something to do, but he’d still have to wait the ten minutes before the coach was ready, and the time for the coach to get him there. In the meantime, would his father end up changing his mind about the proclamation? They continued to chat while waiting.
The driver himself appeared breathless at the door. “The coach is ready, Sires, though I cannot guarantee it will be to your complete satis—”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” Said the King. “This is not a long distance trip.”
Ganning led the way down to the front door, before which the coach was ready and waiting. He opened the door to the coach, and the King heaved himself in. Taréz followed carefully, folding his frame through the door. With a click, the driver closed the door and went up to the front. A lurch and they were off.

When the two arrived at the observation platform and looked out the window, Taréz was stunned. There had been some progress on building, but most of the light Vle still did not have a roof over their heads. There seemed to be almost no room to move around. The fence had not been extended, and the piles of household items were very, very tall now. And yet more light Vle arrived.
“Sire! I was not expecting you.”
Taréz turned when he heard Gardric’s voice. The Chief looked somewhat hurt and uncomfortable.
“Oh?” replied the King. “Is there some reason I must warn you before I go somewhere? Let you know, so you can adjust appearances? I think not. It’s my kingdom, Gardric.”
“Of course, Sire. It’s just that I would have prepared a reception for you, an inspection tour.”
“Well, the next time I’m in the mood for that, I shall warn you first. But for now, I wanted to see how things are coming.”
“Rough, Sire. Our lack of money is slowing things down. We cannot keep up with arrivals’ needs.”
“You can slow down the rate of arrivals.”
“For security reasons, I found it best to execute this plan as quickly as possible.”
“At the expense of the comfort of our guests, Gardric. Now, I know you don’t like light Vle, but at least humor me in this. Either slow down their arrivals, or triple— no, quadruple the construction speed. Oh, and extend the walls.”
“But, Sire, we don’t have the money—”
“I didn’t think we were paying them anything.”
“Of course not, Sire! But, materials—”
“I don’t care anymore. We’ll either print or mine or borrow the money. My concern is those below.”
Gardric didn’t reply to that, though he seemed about to. Taréz was about to ask him what was on his mind when he spoke. “Very well, Sire. I shall hire more workers in the morning.”
“Right now.”
“Very well, Sire.” The Chief of the Army snapped his fingers, and an aide appeared. “Tell Fesson to quadruple the workforce.”
“Fesson, sir?” asked the aide with a bewildered look.
“Yes, Fesson! Now, go!”
“Yessir.” The aide went off in a hurry.
“Now, Sire, if you would care to inspect my troops here? It would mean a lot to them.”
Taréz saw his father hesitate, as if he didn’t really want to. Of course, the soldiers would be glad to be inspected, to show off, to bask in the glory of their liege lord. So maybe the King didn’t feel like basking at the moment.
Yis appeared at the door. “Ah, Yis, please, I’ve been meaning to have a word with you. Gardric, you’re dismissed. You came up to say something?”
“Yes, Sire, actually I was hoping to make my daily beg with the Chief.”
“More money? More labor? More space?”
“Yes, all of the above. It’s inVle, Sire.”
“Oh, by the Great Master, did you have to say that? My conscience is already torturing me to no end.”
“It may be trying to tell you something.”
“Well... I know that! But sometimes the conscience is wrong. History has taught that all too well. An ounce of compassion becomes a ton of ruin. Can you imagine what would be happening if I was actually sending all of these people out of the country?”
“No, Sire. I cannot.”
Taréz realized he couldn’t either.
After a bit of a pause, Yis said, “You never sent the money I asked for.”
“No, I didn’t.” The King sighed. “I know I’m not a great accountant, but there isn’t any to send.”
“The taxes weren’t sufficient?”
“No. Receipts from the east and south were way down.”
“That’s to be expected.”
“I know. Still, I thought there would be enough. We’re a large, rich kingdom. We’ve got plenty, right? Apparently not.”
“It simply means, Your Majesty, that you’ll have to be more creative.”
The King looked at Yis and narrowed his eyes. “Creative? That sounds dishonest.”
“Not at all, Sire. I simply mean that you have to look for other sources of money. What funds do you have saved up, what other ways are there to gain income? No one ever said taxes were the only way.”
“You mean, my funds? My own personal income?!”
“Well, just as an example. You had a special fund for the South Hall, if I remember correctly, and—”
“And you already have used that.”
“Indeed.”
“My own personal income.” A long pause. “Well, I just told Gardric to quadruple the rate of construction and extend the fence. I’ll find the money for it somehow.”
“Thank you, Sire. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
After a moment, Yis dismissed himself.

Mecora found Relie at the statue the next day, impassively looking toward the men at their various jobs. The younger girl apparently heard the approaching footsteps. “You have a funny way of enjoying parties,” she said.
The accusation hurt. Who was this newcomer to judge how she behaved? “You have a funny way of being a friend,” was her retort.
“I’m not the one who got so drunk that you couldn’t remember my name anymore.”
“I always do that! And then we always slept out on the deck together. And then Handa went to get the willow-bark tea. You’ve never been drunk, obviously, or you’d know how important that is.”
“Is that what a friend is to you? Someone to support your habit, so you can keep drinking away your life and not have to feel the consequences?”
That really irritated Mecora. “How did you get so smart? Or, I mean, how did you get to be my mother? My own mother doesn’t even complain!”
“Well, maybe I just thought you’d like to have a true friend, someone who’ll make you a better person.”
“There’s no point in trying. I am the way I am, and there’s nothing a little twerp like you can do about it,” Mecora spat.
“Well, fine! If you die, don’t come haunting me!”
“I hope I die just so I can get away from you!” With that, she turned, and stalked off. Only then did she realize she was stalking away from her own mooding spot. It only made her angrier. There was nothing to punch, hit or scream at. No doors to kick, no brother’s ears to bollox, no pans to bang. But then, there were those things at home.
It didn’t seem to take long to get there, but as soon as she walked in the door, her mother said, “Don’t you dare bring your anger in here! Take it to the statue.”
“AAAAGHH!” She couldn’t stand it. “I can’t, Relie’s there!” It seemed as if every muscle in her body wanted to tense at once, and really destroy everything.
“Well, take a walk or something, but I won’t have you banging up my pans or your brothers’ heads.”
Mecora couldn’t move. A walk just wouldn’t do any good— where was there to go, really?
“What did Relie do to make you so mad?”
“She accused me of not being a good friend, that I just used friends for getting tea on mornings-after.”
“Well, that’s part of adjusting, isn’t it? You didn’t have to get mad.”
“Well, she was just so... irritating! Like she was my mother, or a priest or something.” She relaxed a bit.
“Did she have some good advice?”
“Mom, she’s two years younger than I am! How can she know more than me? She’s never lived my life. And she lived in a town filled with just light Vle, so she’s gotta be nuts from losing all her friends, and yet she doesn’t show it.”
“Maybe she needs your help in bringing her problems out and making her deal with them.”
“Maybe her mother said the same thing to her.” That relaxed her even more. She still hated Relie, though.
“That may be true.” Her mother went back to sweeping, though with all the sweeping she did, there was very little dust to sweep. “Oh, by the way, what’s this?” She held out her hand for her daughter to take the object inside.
Mecora finally entered her house, took the object and examined it carefully. It was round and had a hard shell, but it didn’t seem solid. She’d never seen anything like it. “I dunno, Mom,” she replied, putting it into her right pocket. “Where’d you find it?”
“On your pillow this morning.”
“Well, it’s not mine. Maybe I can ask someone what it is.”
“You’re sure Relie didn’t give it to you?”
“Mom! Did you have to bring her up again?!” Mecora sat at the table and brooded, while her mother shook her head and went back to sweeping the seemingly dustless floor.

That afternoon, the rumble of many wagons and more hooves and yet more feet grew in the forest. The whole town went to the railing of the platform to watch; some turned away almost immediately. To Mecora, it was a sorrowful sound, like the souls of the light Vle being beaten into the ground by their own feet as they walked. Their expressions were blank, not seeming to notice the thousand-odd pairs of eyes gazing at them. Mecora, too, wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. It was disrespectful, she felt, to watch and do nothing, but it also seemed wrong to look away in shame, as if out of sight was out of mind. No one laughed, no one spoke but for the children who wondered what was going on.
The line stretched on, and on. The crowd finally began to thin, and Mecora couldn’t stand to watch any longer, either. Suddenly, she couldn’t stand to be there, in town, not even in the forest, not even in her own burnably dark body. She had to run, and run she did. Not even aware she was going, she ran onto the rope bridge to the monastery tree. Up the stairs, to the platform—
“I’m sorry, Miss, but you’ll need an invitation from the abbot to come up here,” said a young monk.
She looked at him, not even having been aware that he was there. “O-oh,” she stammered, “I’m, I’m sorry, I- I didn’t even know...”
“I understand. Is there someone you have come to see?”
Was there? Well, perhaps there was. “Hyran. Can I come up to see him?”
“Well, I doubt you’ll be able to get him to get permission for you to come up. You see, he has disappeared.”
“Disappeared?! Did they take him too? What would they do that for? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either. I do know that he was defrocked.”
“Defrocked?” Mecora hadn’t ever heard the word before.
“Yes, he’s no longer a monk. And just this morning, we discovered that his cell was empty.”
“So, he left on his own.”
“We believe so.”
“But, he didn’t even come see me.” And then, she remembered the strange object in her pocket. Taking it out, she asked, “Do you know what this is?”
“It’s an eggnut,” the monk replied. “We give those to glowworms to keep them glowing.”
Glowworms... The ones Hyran had given her weren’t so bright anymore.... So, Hyran had visited! Suddenly things were okay again. “Do glowworms need them to live?”
“Well, not really... they can eat other things, but these seem to make them glow better than without. Why? Do you actually have a glowworm?”
“Three,” Mecora replied. “Thanks for your advice!” And she bounded back down the steps.
In fact, she bounded all the way home. However, her heart sank once she got there: Relie was about to knock on the door. “Relie.”
“Hi, Mecora. I came to apologize today. I should have realized you were still hurting. It was insensitive of me.”
By the Great Master, why did this annoying goody-two shoes have to come into her life? But the good feeling from Hyran’s gift overflowed. “No, Relie, I’m the one who should apologize. I really didn’t need to say those things. I was just... still hungover, I guess. I know that’s not much of an excuse, but it’s the best I’ve got.”
“So, do you want to still be friends? I don’t know if I can promise to stay out on the platform all night or not.”
“No, I think maybe it would be best if we didn’t try to be friends.”
“I think you’re right, Mecora. Still, it’s nice to have met you.”
“Yeah. I’m glad I met you, too.” Well, maybe that would be true some time later. But just not now.

But the dance just wasn’t fun. There weren’t many Vle there, the music seemed listless, and Relie could dance circles around everybody, but no one noticed. Mecora, of course, just went for more beer. Sometime during the evening, Relie left, but Mecora didn’t know why. At the very least she could have been there the next morning to get some willow bark tea. If she really wanted to be a friend, she could have at least done that.
If only the morning’s runningtree had actually killed her. It would have solved so many problems. Her mother would never have to drag her out of bed again, she could save her money on those horrible flatcakes, which Mecora would never have to eat again... She almost lost her stomach contents just thinking about those flatcakes.
On the plus side, she didn’t have to deal with her mother that morning. She just had a headache of a different kind to deal with. Which was worse? Mecora didn’t know.
Slowly, carefully, she crawled over to the chemists’. It felt like she crawled for an hour. “Hello, Mecora,” said Handa’s mother softly. “Some willow-bark tea for you?”
“Please.”
The matronly woman went about her chores without a word, without a song. At one time, Mecora had promised herself that she wouldn’t go to Holice’s shop, since she was sure it would bring back too many memories. But every single time she woke up out on the plaza, she crawled in the same direction.
“Here you go, dear.”
At least the tea was still free. “Thank you.” Carefully, Mecora took a sip. Slowly, she began to feel better.
Handa’s mom usually went about her business then, but this time, she just stood, watching her. “Is something wrong?” Mecora asked.
“No, not really. I was just thinking about... mornings after.”
Mecora finished her tea. “Yeah.”
“I don’t understand how you can keep doing this to yourself.”
“Kills the pain.”
“Nothing can kill the pain forever, Mecora, only for a little while. And then the pain makes up for lost time.”
“Tell me about it.” There was a pause, during which Mecora finally, slowly stood up. “How do you deal with it?”
“Handa still lives in here,” replied the chemist, pointing to her head. “My life was enriched by her presence, and I am glad I knew her.”
“Yeah.” It made sense. It still didn’t really bring her back, though. Nor could it bring back her friends from the camp. “Well, Mom will expect me home soon.”
“Say hello for me.”
“I will.” Mecora left, debating whether to pass the hello on or not. Mom wouldn’t like to know she’d visited Holice, considering...
Something seemed different: there was more noise in town! Unusual, especially for an early Fifthday. She looked around, and just coming into view around the tree was another troop of soldiers, doing something very odd. They were putting up signs, fairly large and colorful ones. Curious, Mecora went to join the crowd to get a look at what the signs said.
Or, more precisely, to get some help in reading them. They were all about light Vle, that much she knew. But she thought there was something wrong with her reading skills— they all said something very disparaging! And every one reminded the reader to make sure and send a message to the Most High Elder of the town when a light Vle was spotted without an escort.
Light Vle were proven enemies of the state, untrustable, greedy, and had once owned all the wealth of the nation, and were likely to try to take it all again.
Yeah, right! It seemed to Mecora that most of the townsfolk disagreed and disapproved of the signs. However, no one took them down, either.
She shuffled on home, intent on getting some more sleep. As usual for ninthday mornings, her mother was home, doing chores. Not usual was her reaction when Mecora walked in the door. “Hello dear,” she said, hugging her daughter. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Mecora was too tired to respond. “Thanks, Mom. I’m gonna get some sleep.”
“Wait, I want to talk with you. We don’t get to really do that anymore.”
“What is there to talk about? We wake up, we go to work, or do chores, we come home, we go to bed, hopefully with food in our stomachs.”
“Well, we could talk about last night. Did you have fun? I heard you made a new friend.”
Oh, so that was it. “Some new friend. She left the party early, didn’t even stick around to get me some tea this morning.”
“Well, you can’t expect her to just fit into your idea of a friend right away. You both have some learning about each other to do.”
“I dunno. I just don’t think we’re meant to be friends. She’s kinda too young, too... bubbly.”
“You were bubbly once, and energetic. Better yet, she’s as dark as you are, I heard. She might be exactly what you need.”
“Mom, what’s how dark she is got to do with it?”
“Oh, I dunno, I just think you need someone just like you for a friend for a change.”
“Yeah, only a few years younger so I can be happy and ‘bubbly’ again. Great. Listen, I’m tired. I wanna get some sleep.”
“Okay, dear.”
Mecora fell asleep still not understanding what had gotten into her mom or why she was so glad to see her.

Girl

Mecora did not want to get up. Mom had prepared another, dull, boring breakfast (flatcakes, always flatcakes, without any topping because they could no longer afford it). There’d be nothing to do, no one to see, no one to talk to, no one to share clothes with...
Nothing.
Her mother opened the door. “Come on, Mecora, I don’t want to have to go through this again.”
“So don’t.”
Her mother sighed. “Mecora, I will if I have to. Make it easier for both of us and come eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“The only reason for that is that you just laze around all day and never go outside. You really need some fresh air and new friends.”
“Why should I get some new friends when I still have some?” Mecora retorted. Everyone tried to tell her to get new friends, as if she could just cast the old ones off, and forget them!
“It’s always good to make new friends, Mecora. It makes you a better person. I always thought you were too clickish with those three anyway. Come on, just say to yourself, ‘I’m going out to have fun today.’”
“Nothing’s fun anymore. Not without my friends.”
Mecora’s mother changed her tone. “Mecora, would you like me to come in and drag you out?”
“No,” was Mecora’s terse reply. Lips pursed, she tossed aside the linens and strode toward the door. She barely even looked at her mother as she went out to the table. She thumped down on the chair, glowering at her brothers. They were suddenly very quiet.
“That’s better. Tomorrow morning we’ll work on your mood.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be worked on. I wanna be just the way I am, because there’s no point in being any different.”
“I find that very hard to believe.” Mecora’s mother put a plate of two flatcakes before her, and said, “Eat.”
Mecora looked at her mother, and decided she didn’t feel like resisting this morning. She could save her energy and really resist the next day. She tried not to think about the flatcakes as they dried out her mouth, tastelessly sliding down her throat.
Finally, there was nothing left on the plate. She stood, and went back to the bedroom, intent on going to sleep again.
“You’re not going to bed again,” said her mother.
“You’re right, I’m not,” replied Mecora, but she flopped onto the bed anyway.
About an hour later, her mother came in again. “I thought I told you not to go to bed again.”
“No, you didn’t,” replied Mecora. “You just told me that I wasn’t going to bed, but you were wrong.”
“Quit the wordplay and get up! I’m sick and tired of battling with you! I’m about ready to put you out of the house.”
That shocked Mecora. The tone meant more than just being out for the day, but being out, period. “Wh— wh—”
“Don’t wha-wha me, girl! I don’t particularly like sharing a bed with such a sourpuss, and I don’t particularly like kicking you through your life. Maybe if you lived on your own, your survival instincts would kick in.”
“I doubt it.”
“So do I. That’s why I haven’t done it yet. I love you too much.”
Somehow, that drained the fight out of Mecora. On the other hand, she couldn't return the sentiment. Instead, she went to her drawers to try to pick out something to wear for the day.
The door closed, and Mecora began tossing various shirts and tops and skirts and dresses out onto the bed behind her. It was all too pretty, too eye-catching, too bright for her dark mood. And, she supposed, they all reminded her too much of her friends. Lots of the clothes she’d tossed behind her were ‘borrowed’ from them.
Finally, she reached the hand-me-downs from her mother that had been buried since her mother had last done the laundry-- dingier, less colorful things. Almost randomly, she chose a tunic and a skirt and pulled them on.
She came out, and her mother didn’t give her a second glance. “You’re making progress, Mecora. What are you going to do now?”
“Who says I have to do anything?”
“I do. Now go, so I can clean this place without you in my way.”
“Yes, Mother,” she droned, and shuffled out the door.
High above, the sky showed blue through the leaves, and the glint of sunlight flitted through them. Birds sang, and insects chirped, and Mecora even smiled a little. But it hurt to smile, hurt inside.

A few Vle passed by on their business, but no one said ‘hi.’ She decided that was probably best— she wasn't sure how civil her reply would have been. She wandered away, not really taking notice of where she was going beyond making sure she didn’t bump into anyone (never mind the fact that the town was seemingly as dead as if it were still dawn). And then she wondered why she was being so kind.
Suddenly, she found herself at the statue.
Burn.
“Lonely?”
Mecora whirled. A girl a little younger than she stood there in brightly colored clothers, smiling sweetly. “Are you new here?” asked Mecora brusquely.
Somehow, the girl didn’t seem fazed by that. “Yeah, we just moved in. We were the only ones left in our town.”
“And it doesn’t bother you, that all your friends are gone?”
“Well, of course! Did you have some light friends, too?”
“Correction,” said Mecora, bearing down on the girl, “I do have light friends.”
“Oh, well, that’s what I meant, I mean, of course, since they’re probably still alive...”
A moment of awkward silence passed before Mecora relaxed and spoke again. “So, I suppose you want to be my friend, now.”
“If you want. It looks like you could use one.”
“Who needs friends? They just get taken away, or they die of depression. You don’t want me as a friend. I might die tonight.”
“Well, if you don’t want me as a friend, just say so. Gee whiz.” She began to walk away.
“No, wait. I’ll try it. Meet me here tonight, and we’ll go to the party.”
“Okay! I’d like that. See you tonight!” She skipped away happily, leaving Mecora to wonder if she’d really done the right thing. They’d never even introduced themselves.

The girl was at the statue, waiting as promised. “Hi! I should have told you my name before skipping away. I’m Relie.”
“I’m Mecora. Shall we go?”
“Sure.” As they started walking, Relie asked, “Why the statue?”
“My friends and I used to meet there to watch the guys working in their shops. It kinda became, you know, our spot.”
“What’s so interesting about watching a bunch of guys working? It’s not like you’ll ever grow up to be a leatherworker, or a sculptor, or a blacksmith.”
“That wasn’t the point. You’ll understand someday.”
“Oh.”
The music was as loud as it always used to be, but the crowd wasn’t. They danced, but it seemed to Mecora that they did so without any real attempt to innovate. They simply moved, back and forth and around and around. Mecora moved toward the pub, almost by reflex.
“What are you going that way for?”
“Some beer! Don’t you drink beer at parties?”
“Heck no! I like to be able to dance and then remember it all in the morning.”
Mecora was torn, but in the end she went for the free glass. As Relie watched, she chugged it. “Okay, let’s go dance.”

Later, the abbot returned to the now-dark hall. “Hyran?”
“Yes, Father?”
“I’ve been wondering if you were okay. Is something disturbing you?”
Hyran nodded, and repeated verbatim the conversation he’d had earlier. “I’ve been trying to find the flaws in the argument ever since. I can’t find anything wrong, which means our Great Master is inconsistent. I then tried to think of ways to prove that The Great Master is consistent, but I’ve found that it’s merely a leap of faith.”
“There is nothing ‘mere’ about a leap of faith, Son,” said the abbot gravely.
“Except that leaps of faith cannot be the basis of a sound, logical argument.”
“Why not? These leaps of faith are as factual as anything else. They simply cannot be proven.”
“But they seem awfully easy to disprove.”
The abbot nodded slowly. “They can seem that way, if your logic is flawed.”
“So, what was flawed about my conversation with Varabia?”
“Well.... I shall require some meditation on that question.”
“I thought you might say that.” He stood, and went to leave the room.
“Wait,” said the abbot. “Do you know you missed the evening service?”
Hyran hadn’t, but then realized he had been aware of the growing darkness. “Yes, Father.”
“You might be helped by the night oil.”
“Of course.” He knelt before the older Vle, and they said a few simple prayers. The drowsiness took him as he stood and walked out toward his cell.

Kelwome was quiet, waiting for the dawn. He hadn’t been seen leaving, and so he felt reasonably safe. [Redemption] He went to find Mecora’s house, and found the door open, as usual. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he went in. It was dark inside, but he could see anyway. He went through to the room Mecora shared with her mother. But only Caile was there, clutching a pillow tightly, as if she didn’t want it to go. [She needs me...] He left again, and went to the bakery. The baker was there, of course, but he had not yet opened; Hyran walked in anyway. “Hello,” he said, “Nice to see you again. Is there more advice I can give?”
“You said you thought we of the clergy ought to be more involved.”
“Yeah. If clergy were more involved, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”
“Problem?” Hyran didn’t know why he’d asked that, because he knew it was the proclamation.
But that’s not what the baker said. “Yeah. War, riots, suicides, poverty... should I continue?” [It must stop soon...]
“No, thank you. But I doubt the Rep can be convinced.” [Trust...]
The baker nodded. “I know.”
“You could try,” said Allega.
Hyran turned. How had he gotten here? “You want me to try?”
“Would it hurt? How much longer can you stay with the monastic life, knowing how bad things are in the camp?” [It must stop soon...]
“But I don’t know how bad things are,” replied Hyran.
“You will soon. You must go find out.” [Go...]
“But before you go,” said the baker, “You might see if any of your brothers up there will come along.”
“I could try.”
“The worst that could happen is that you will get thrown out,” said Allega.
“What about my vows?”
“You are only restricted by that which you allow to restrict you.”
He’d said that just that day! “But, what about my redemption? I could lose it.”
The responding voice sounded much larger than any of three voices he was hearing in his dream. “Trust!” they said. “Trust....”
[Trust...]

He’d never woken so energetically. He knew now what he had to do, he knew why, and he now knew that there was nothing, really, that could hold him back. He ate breakfast quickly, as the other monks gave him wondering looks. “What’s gotten under your robe, Hyran?” asked one.
“A dream,” was the only answer he gave.
When he was done, he took a bench, and began to talk. He talked about everything, events that all the monks knew about, and other events that only the townsfolk knew, and things the lord had said. He talked about the moral imperative to do what was right, to protect the lives and the freedom of all beings that was guaranteed by the Great Master. He talked about the inconsistencies and what that could possibly mean: that their faith in the consistency of the Great Master might be flawed! That got the most reaction.
And all of the reaction was negative. Most of them began to talk over him, telling him to step down and be quiet, that he should meditate before his redemption was revoked, that if that was how he believed, he didn’t belong as their brother anymore.
Through it all, he continued to talk. Then, a very solemn-faced abbot came over. The crowd quieted, but Hyran continued to talk.
“Hyran.”
The abbot’s tone was completely neutral, but it was enough to quiet Hyran. “Yes, Father.”
“This is not the way.”
“Yes, Father, but—”
“You are fighting a losing battle.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you continue?”
“Because I don’t expect to win today. But tomorrow, or the next day...”
“No, not today. Come.”
Hyran stepped down. What did the enigmatic abbot have in mind? Hyran followed all the way to the cathedral, and then up to the darkened altar. “Kneel,” said the abbot.
Hyran bent down reverently, as did the abbot beside him. “You believe you act with the blessing of the Great Master.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Though I find that hard to believe, I can see in your eyes that you believe you are. However, I find your actions so far destructive.”
“I merely ask another to join me.”
“Do you think that constructive?”
“Perhaps. If more believe that the light Vle must be freed, we can change the King’s mind.”
“That is the same rhetoric Varabia used.”
“It is logical rhetoric. It may even be what the Great Master wants.”
“And you would break your vows for a mere guess at what the Great Master wants?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Hyran, by the power invested in me by the Great Master, I absolve you of your vows. May you find the happiness and fulfillment in your future that you could not find here. The Great Master bless you and guide you, Amen.”
“Amen.”
“Two things, Hyran: that service means you can never again take the vows. Also, it does not asbolve you from your duty to the Mandates.”
“I understand.”
“Very well. You may continue to live here, until such time as you know where to go.”
Where to go. That was a problem: He had nowhere to go, and no money to get there. Oh, well, it was something to meditate on.

He woke up early again the next morning, again before the sun had risen. It was somewhat cool; the feel of approaching autumn was in the air. He lit the glowworms, and packed as best he could. The answer of where to go had come to him in a dream, and he wouldn’t require much more than the provisions he could carry to get him there. After all, if thousands of light Vle could walk five days, he certainly could for three.
He left as quietly as before, stopping only at the kitchen pantry to gather some food. He’d eat breakfast at the baker’s again, he decided. He went to the railing of the platform, then, and looked out at the dark forest for what could be the last time from that viewpoint.
Then, he descended the steps to the bridge to town with but one thing on his mind:
Home.

Monk

It just wasn’t the same.
It felt to Hyran as if he had to strain his voice to its limits to help create even half the sound the choir had been able to make before. The chapel actually seemed empty now, with only dark-skinned Vle to praise and bless the Great Master.
Later, the copying cells seemed almost silent— it was as if no one wanted their quill to be heard. How badly would this affect the copying schedule? Could they keep up with the rate of decay?
It was finally at dinner that the subject was breached. “It doesn’t seem right to be without our brothers,” someone said into the silence at the table. Hyran thought perhaps the anonymous voice was the Abbot’s, but he couldn’t be sure.
“No,” agreed Tichel. “It seems to me that the Great Master would prefer to keep us together, so that more may praise and bless his name.”
“And yet we are commanded to do nothing,” said Hyran. A few gave him looks that said, ‘Well, of course not!’
“There is nothing to say that being elsewhere is an impediment to our brothers in praise of the Great Master. Indeed, they could create their own monastery within this camp of the King’s.”
“True, but they are now off the platform, contrary to their vows.”
“Not contrary. They had permission.”
Everyone looked at the head of the table. The abbot regarded his ‘sons’ with equanimity, and continued. “The King is qualified to allow any of us to leave.”
“As well as allow outsiders onto the platform?” someone asked.
The abbot shook his head. “No, that had to be either me or one of my superiors. And regardless of who gave such permission, it was not a choice. It was politics.”
The abbot’s tone was such that it was clear no more discussion would take place in that direction. After a pause, Brother Clarrow, sent the discussion in a new one: “So, do we pray for our brothers? Is there reason to think they are in danger? Or are they to be martyrs? Without understanding the outside world, we can’t know.”
“It makes no difference,” said a senior brother who was about on par with Allega. “We must trust in the Great Master either way. He has redeemed us, so that death means little to our souls.”
“But that does not absolve our duty to the souls of this world,” countered Hyran. “The Great Master’s redemption is not something everyone knows or accepts always, and therefore they are without comfort.”
The senior brother spread his hands. “What does that have to do with our brothers? They have accepted the redemption, and do not need our prayers.”
“But can we be sure they are still accepting? Did you see Allega as he led him away? The Vle was afraid for his life, shocked to the heart that something like this should occur. We must at least pray for his strength, as well as the strength of the others.”
“Are you saying that our brothers are less than completely dedicated?”
“Not at all. I am merely saying that this traumatic event will force them to reevaluate their— our religion.”
And then everyone turned away and ignored him for the rest of the evening.

As Hyran headed for the copying cells two days later, the abbot approached him. He got a bit worried— had the abbot been so displeased at his comments at dinner that he had just now cooled down enough to talk to him?
“Hyran? May I talk with a moment?”
“Of course, Father.”
“Brother Allega thought well of you.”
“We got along well, Father.”
“But, I mean to say, he thought highly enough that he recommended you for whatever advancement you desired to take. I’m afraid the garden still has one to tend it.”
Hyran smiled wryly. “I have begun to wonder if that will ever change.”
“No time soon, I’m sure. However, you are known for your... unorthodox theology. Not just here, but in other monasteries as well. I frankly find it curious that Allega should have thought so highly of you. However, there is no reason you cannot serve as my secretary today.”
“Today? As in, a temporary appointment?”
“Exactly. As you know, my secretary had to leave.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I have done quite well without him, so I am reluctant to replace him on a permanent basis. However, I would like your assistance this afternoon.”
“Is there a special duty you need me for, Father?”
“Yes. Lord Varabia has come to talk with us.”
“You have permitted his entry?”
“Yes. He is the lord of this land. He wishes to talk with me, so I have allowed him to come do so. Do you see a reason not to?”
“Well, only that he is the embodiment of politics. But I understand that you have agreed to see him as a petitioner. Of course, Father.”
“I’m glad you agree with me. Now, if you will accompany me when he arrives?”
“Yes, Father. When the lift bell rings, I shall come.”
“Very good. Good copying.”
“Thank you, Father.”
They parted, and Hyran went to copy, hoping he could keep his mind on it. If he served well as secretary, he could well get to stay— and skip being a mentor entirely...!
Best not get one’s hopes up.

The lift bell rang soon after lunch, and Hyran moved quickly to the lift. Below, a very distinguished-looking man stepped from an ornate coach, and onto the small platform which would bear him up. The lift operator of the day prodded the horse into action, and the lift moved slowly to the lower level where Hyran and the abbot waited.
When the lift was finally level, the two monks bowed, but only Hyran bowed low. “Greetings, Lord Varabia. It is a pleasure to have your presence grace our monastery,” said the abbot. “May I introduce Brother Hyran.”
Varabia gave Hyran a mere nod, and turned his attention back to the abbot. “I was wondering if I might call a conference of your most senior monks, Father.”
The abbot raised his brows. “A conference? The advice of one monk is not enough?”
“No, Father, I am afraid it is not.”
“Very well.” The abbot turned to Hyran, and nodded, which meant ‘Go ring the conference bell.’ Hyran did, and rejoined the two, who were deep in discussion about redemption, and what it meant to a lord such as Varabia. Hyran fell into step, and simply listened, as was his job for the day.
“So, you don’t agree with the idea that, since I’m a lord, I must have been redeemed by the Great Master before I was even born?” asked Varabia.
“No, because, as virtuous as you may be, you have the Creator’s instincts just like the rest of us, because you were born just like the rest of us. Those instincts, however, may lead you wrong. You need to be redeemed, so that you can restrict the influence of those instincts.”
“I see. So, then, by what right do I rule?”
“Oh, the Creator’s of course.”
“Which is what I thought. So, even though the Great Master redeems us equally, we’re still unequal because the Creator created us so.”
“Exactly.”
“I see. Some people think that belief in the Great Master means you can’t believe in the Creator anymore, and so they’re questioning the Created Right to Rule.”
“That’s nonsense. Someone had to Create all that we see, and it certainly wasn’t the Great Master.”
And then there were those, like Hyran, who did question the right to rule, but not the Creator. Was it wrong to say that the old Creation religion just had a few facts wrong?
They came to the hall of studies, and sat at the large conference table. The abbot sat at the head, of course, as was his custom, and Varabia sat to his right. Hyran took the left position, and then the senior brothers entered the hall.
“Greetings, Sons,” said the abbot. “Sitting here at my right hand is a petitioner, the estimable Lord of Varabia. I have not yet asked what his question is, so I cannot prepare you. Are there any questions?”
“Begging pardon, Father,” said an elderly man two positions down from Varabia, “if I may ask, by what right does Brother Hyran sit at your side?”
“He is my secretary for this meeting. He will not be contributing to the discussion, without my approval.”
Hyran hadn’t realized before how infamous his theology was. Obviously, some really disliked it! But that was not a concern for the moment.
“Are there any more questions?” The abbot’s query was met by only silence, so he said, “Then, we shall begin. My Lord?”
Varabia stood as the abbot sat; Hyran prepared his parchment and quill. “My most reverent brothers,” he began, “My concern, which I bring to you, is the recent proclamation by the King. I am sure you know which one I speak of— I can see vacancies even right here among you.
“The situation is much the same throughout my realm— whole towns, in some places, forced to pack up and walk for days; other towns are missing a large part of their mechant community. What it adds up to, my friends, is a large loss in revenue. That’s the purely pragmatic side. On the more emotional side, my family has been broken up by this move, we have intermarried so much. There are countless families with the same problems in towns, with friendships broken and Vle literally dying of grief.
“My request is not for only myself, however. I come on behalf of light Vle everywhere. This situation cannot continue, but I do not have enough power to convince the King that he is wrong. Your organization, however does. You can convince the Representative that he must order the king to change course. For the good of fifty thousand Vle, and the good of the kingdom, this I implore.”
He stopped, and sat. There was silence. Finally, the abbot said, “Surely you know of our vows.”
“Of non-interference in politics? That I do. But you must see beyond that. This isn’t just politics, these are lives we’re talking about. Suffering souls, and more may suffer if our light-Vle neighbors decide to wage war in defense of their kinsmen. I would be forced to take up arms against them— those I myself consider kinsmen.”
“It remains a political matter, My Lord,” said a senior brother near the far end of the table. “It is a King’s decree, a decsion he made based on political necessity. We cannot pretend to understand all the issues, and therefore we cannot pressure him in any way.”
Varabia gestured with his fists. “What issues do you need?! There is only one that matters here, and that is personal freedom. Our King does not have the right to take that away for any reason. If you pressure him to take a different action, then he will, and it will be one with nearly the same rationale. We do not need to fear interference here— only inaction.”
Another senior brother tried another tack. “The Great Master commands us— all of us— to look at all sides of an issue, before making a decision. Thus we will make wise, advantageous decisions. He also commands those of us who seek to know him as he knew himself to sequester ourselves so that we may come to know him without distraction. Unfortunately, that leaves us largely unaware of the greater issues beyond. We cannot interfere. The issue is not one merely one of freedom, but of the future. The Great Master has plans for the world, and it is not for us to guess at those plans.” The brother jabbed his pointer finger in Varabia’s direction. “If we did, we would be saying that our Great Master is inconsistent. He gave us these Mandates to be followed without exception, so that we would have no reason to interrupt his plans.”
The abbot joined in. “And as dire as the situation may be, it is well within the capacity of the Great Master to deal with. This may be part of his plan. We cannot say, because we cannot know.”
Varabia looked at all the faces around the table, and Hyran looked as well. Every single one was in agreement, and displayed confidence in that agreement. For a moment, Hyran wondered if he truly was in the right career.
[Trust...]
Varabia sat back. “Very well. I had to try.”
“Trust in the Great Master,” the monks chorused, and stood, filing out, leaving Hyran and the abbot with the disappointed lord.
“That is not the answer you wanted,” observed the abbot.
Varabia shook his head. “No, it is not.”
The abbot stood, and so did Hyran. “Thank you, Hyran. I shall not need your services further today.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Come, I shall see you away,” said the abbot to Varabia.
The lord shook his head. “Might I meditate some more before I go?”
The abbot inclined his head a small degree. “If that is your wish.” He then walked out, but Hyran did not follow.
“You don’t seem to agree with the others,” Varabia stated.
“No. I don’t know if it’s just my youth, or a lack of belief, or my different background, but I cannot agree.”
“Hmph. I came expecting to come away with an entire organization at my side, but instead I have only an abbot’s secretary. Unless you happen to have his ear...?”
“Hardly. He told me, literally, that I am known for my unorthodox views. I served as his secretary only for today.”
“Hmm.” Varabia slumped into an undignified posture in his chair. “Essentially, we’re in the same predicament, you and I. Our hands are tied behind our backs by our superiors, without a way to change their minds; the only path for us is the path they choose.”
Hyran had a thought. “I once copied a text, which said that we are only constrained by our own selves. No one can really constrain us, we only choose to accept that constraint. You could choose differently.”
“As could you.”
“N-no, my constraints are held by The Great Master himself. He can indeed constrain us.”
“Can he? How? He didn’t constrain the King’s hand, when he sat to write the proclamation. He didn’t constrain the soldiers who came to take half my subjects away. He didn’t constrain the builders of the camp.”
“Then we can only assume it is his will, however odd it seems.”
Varabia was warming up. He sat forward and said, “Then, as your own brothers have said, he would be inconsistent! For did The Great Master not guarantee that all beings of all races be free to make their own choices, within his own guidelines?”
“He did.” Hyran couldn’t believe it. Varabia was right! Something had to faulty in the logic, however, because it seemed too good to be true. Or too bad, depending on the viewpoint. After all, either way, the Great Master appeared to be inconsistent. He sat down opposite Varabia.
"Well, I apologize for troubling you. Would you show me to the chapel?"
"Of course." The walk to the chapel was short, and quiet, allowing Hyran to sink deep in thought. He did not notice when Varabia stood and left.

He reported directly to his father upon his return. “It sounded rather dire, Father.”
“They aren’t too happy with me, I imagine.”
“No, I got the impression that they’re not.”
“Did the ambassador have any suggestions?”
Taréz shook his head. “No, but I was hoping he did. The camp is a huge expense, and a much larger project than the South Hall.”
“I know. Did he have anything else to say?”
“Well, one, there is apparently the scent of war. By a unified force. They don’t fear Gardric.”
“I suspected as much. I’ll have to order Gardric to plan a defense... and to prepare very, very discreetly. We don’t want to appear to ready to fight this out. And that was all?”
“No, though it seems somewhat inconsequential in the face of everything else. Watchers reported a less than favorable account of how I interacted with Princess Rakeynna, and her father is less than pleased, especially in light of events here.”
“That is not inconsequential. A snub to a man’s daughter, real or imagined, can very easily set him at edge. If there is talk of unifying for a war effort, he may well be the nucleus, all due to how he feels you treated his daughter.”
“Politics!” Taréz snorted.
“For what it’s worth, I thought you handled the situation well. Rakeynna doesn’t have the most favorable reputation.”
“If it weren’t for Pimber, I’d say I prefer war to a woman any time.”

It wasn’t very often that Taréz got to see the Chief of the Army out of his element, but this was one time. He had a report that Yis would normally have done: the quarterly receipts from the nobles’ taxes.
“We have received ten thousand four hundred eighty platin crowns, thirty-four thousand nineteen gold shillings, and fifty-eight thousand one hundred ninety silver marks,” he reported, “Down roughly twenty percent in each category.”
The King’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Twenty percent?! Are you sure?”
“Y— uh, no, I’m not, Your Majesty. Math was never my strong suit.”
“Let me see.” Gardric handed the parchment accounting tables to the King, seemingly glad to get rid of them. The King looked them over, and worked at them for a while. Finally, he let out a low whistle. “I liked the figures better before. If my math is correct, the figures are down thirty percent.”
Thirty percent?! “By the Great Master!” excalimed Taréz. “This situation had better resolve itself soon! May I see?” He looked at the figures again, and saw that receipts were down throughout the kingdom, and almost completely wiped out in the areas that were now depopulated (of course). “Gardric, I hope you realize that the results would be the same if we had simply evicted all the light Vle.”
“But then, we would never have to support them, as you are doing now.”
“But even if we didn’t end up with a war, we’d never get the light Vle back. We need the light Vle, Gardric. It’s all right here on this sheet of parchment.”
“Sire, their jobs can easily be refilled by us.”
“No, they cannot! Our people are too busy already.”
Just then, Stecky came into the chamber and addressed the King. “Sire, a pigeon has brought a message for you.”
“From whom?”
“Yis, Sire.” He handed the small roll to the king, who unrolled it and squinted to read the writing aloud. “Your Majesty,
I respectfully greet you, and hope all is well in the palace. I write because all is not well here. Construction is lagging far behind the arrival rate, and we badly need more laborers to help, as well as more materials. I may be able to convince some more of my people to help, but that still leaves the problem of materials! Please, Sire, send more.
Your servant, Yis.”
“Yis wants more money, Gardric,” Taréz said.
“Are you sure you can trust him?”
“Gardric! He’s only doing what he thinks best for his people! Now, let’s see what we can give him.”
“Yes, Sire.”
The three Vle pored over the accounting tables again, and found that there would actually be a shortfall that year. Which, of course, meant a shortfall for the next year as well. There simply was no money.
The King collapsed in the chamberlain’s chair, his face a blank weariness.