The Third Internecion

by Erik A Otto

  When the meeting began, Paulo sensed a measure of tension in the room. The council members greeted him curtly, without warmth. It wasn’t a good sign, although the menacing Jawhari man who was casting unwelcome looks at them could have contributed to their malaise.

  Waltham called the meeting to order. “Today we discuss Purveyor Paulo’s request for assistance. Our goal is to come to a decision. Please present your questions for discussion. We will go from my right, starting with Norbert of Spoons.”

  Paulo was glad to have Norbert begin. He and Norbert often saw eye to eye, perhaps because Norbert was more a man of industry than a man of trade. He credited Norbert for the excellent progress they’d made in Spoons and for overseeing the construction of the Child.

  Unfortunately, this also meant that Nevena would be last to ask questions before Waltham wrapped up.

  Norbert cleared his throat and commenced. “Paulo, I wish to understand how you came to certain conclusions because I believe this rationalization is important. You make claims about the Cenarans’ access to great beasts that are behind these…bone mouth doors. Could you explain why you think these beasts exist, more than from one man’s claims? There must be a reason for it. I’m especially curious about the gargoyles, because we might be vulnerable to them here in the Child.”

  It was a valid question, and a difficult one to answer. It delved deep into the heart of Paulo’s theories about the physical world. Anticipating this, Paulo had submitted a briefing to the council members that included his article about a possible connection between the gargoyles and the Red Rains. This article was a critical foundation upon which the answer to this question was based, because if one believed the theory, then one could believe Nala and Sebastian and their claims about the gargoyle sighting at the ruin.

  “Council members, as I’m sure you’ve seen, in the briefing document I’ve included my recent article in the Fringe Arcana pertaining to the connection between the gargoyles and the Red Rains. I believe that this system, like that of the bone chuckers, is an important element of balance in our world. The gargoyles sample our blood periodically and then rectify any nutrient deficiencies through the Red Rains. I have cited references from—”

  Nevena blurted out, “Oh, please, Paulo. Your theories are becoming more and more outlandish. Resorting to incorporating fictitious creatures like gargoyles? Really, I would have expected more from you.”

  Waltham placed his hand on Nevena’s arm. “Let’s give him the floor, Nevena. Paulo, please continue, but know that what you’re speaking of sounds highly speculative. And I wonder how it addresses Norbert’s question.”

  Many of the council members looked to be similarly skeptical. Only Norbert and Carsen—the Low Plains Purveyor—seemed to be listening to him when he referenced the Fringe Arcana submission. The others all scrolled through his brief to find it, which meant they hadn’t read it in advance like they were supposed to.

  Paulo said, “I understand your skepticism, fellow council members. But remember, many were skeptical of the invention of Brickstone before I demonstrated it years ago.”

  He let his comment stew for a moment. The walls around them were a strong testament to what they had achieved through Paulo’s exploration of the natural world. “And I should say that even I wondered at the existence of the gargoyles until recently. I only became convinced when I indentured a woman named Nala Réalla, who has seen one in person. I have also spoken with a Belidoran man who has been sampled by one. Their descriptions confirm that they do exist and that they aren’t horrendous monsters.”

  Some council members were confused, but he kept pushing forward. “What this means is that there are likely many gargoyles housed in these centers all over the realm. Also, the Belidoran man I mentioned has seen a similar beast unearthed and tamed. He witnessed the extent of such installations and knows the key to gain access to them. There are hundreds across the lands, and like I said yesterday, the information on their location, and the key to access them, lies in the Old Keep.”

  Some of them nodded. Others stopped scrolling through the brief. Paulo paused for questions.

  Paulo could tell by Nevena’s restless leg that she was working up to something. Sure enough, she stood and launched her attack. “A few simple observations doesn’t prove anything, and you haven’t seen any of this firsthand. Tales like these are told and embellished all the time, but none have proven true or shown any practical purpose.”

  “Again, my work has helped us build the Child. It has helped many Fringe avoid death on the Day of Ascendancy. I can think of—”

  “Sure, sure, some of this work has been fruitful,” Nevena interrupted. “But what about your many other theories, some of which are no more than entertaining. How about your theory about how the uncuttable stone that makes up the impassable mountains is unnatural? Or what about the sky and the Rim of Fire? I liked that one. How you claim the sky is not boundless but rather we are covered by a vast ceiling that arcs items discarded from the Day into the Rim of Fire as some sort of enormous recycling system. And what was your proof of that one again? Oh yes, that the repository of pears and oranges that was sent to the sky in Thelos created the colorful comet we see over Rio Castellan, like a smear of jam.” She nodded to the other council members, an incredulous look in her eyes.

  Her gaze returned to Paulo, only to shake her head as if scolding him. “Please, Paulo. I hope you see that while we can listen to these theories of yours as curiosities, we cannot take them seriously—we cannot act on them. You’re asking us to break with Fringe doctrine based on these fantastical notions, something we have staunchly defended for generations.”

  Waltham grabbed her arm again, firmly this time. “Please, Nevena, why don’t you wait your turn. We owe Paulo much. He should be given an opportunity to speak.” She sat down with a smirk, happy with herself despite the reprimand. Waltham continued, “I suggest we move on here. We have some passionate views, but Paulo has clearly laid out his case in detail in his report, so let us temper our opinions until we are ready to make a decision.”

  Paulo was glad for the intervention, although Waltham’s words were curious. He had also been scrolling through to find the Fringe Arcana article in the back of his report. If he didn’t read it, how could he make such claims about its clarity?

  Up next was Carsen, the Purveyor of Low Plains, who abstained from questions.

  The treasurer had a question. He’d been scrolling dutifully through the report like the others. “I see you have brought the Jawhari man with you. It says here he will attest to the Cenaran conspiracy in Jawhar. I would like to hear his views on that. Mr….Zahir, how might our actions impact trade with Jawhar.”

  Zahir stood up and spoke loudly but plainly, without affect. “I am a chief aide of Wahab the Weak. When I left with the princess of Pomeria, the Great Herald didn’t want war with Belidor, but I suspect that some on the council are under the thumb of the tattooed Cenaran savages. I’ve seen forces preparing for war near Rabat, and I should think them deployed soon, if not already. I cannot say if the Herald will survive, since one attempt on his life was already made. Nor can I say who will control the masses in Jawhar if he dies. But if Wahab the Weak is in charge, he will not side with the Cenarans.”

  “Yes, thank you, but what about trade? If we are seen aiding the Belidorans or Pomerians, will that cause a problem with our trade of silverstone or other items with Jawhar?”

  The treasurer was always single-minded about trade revenues. Paulo couldn’t fault him, for it was his job, but apparently Zahir could.

  Zahir spat on the floor. “Of course it won’t, because if you don’t help the Belidorans against the Cenarans, then there will be no one to trade with. You will be nothing more than puddles of blood. So no, we couldn’t hold you accountable for breaching your precious doctrine. And besides, that’s not the question you should be asking.”

  The treasurer was taken aback by the spitting and the patronizing insinuation but took Zah
ir’s bait nonetheless. “Well, what’s the question we should be asking?”

  “You should be asking why you want to live like cowards in a prison of your own making.”

  “That’s enough, Zahir,” Paulo said. He ushered Zahir to take a step back from the council table. “The council doesn’t respond well to that kind of aggression.”

  Zahir was nonplussed. He shrugged and went to sit back down. The council looked disturbed by the display, except for Nevena, of course, who looked amused.

  Paulo tried to defuse the tension. “I apologize, honorable council members, and especially Mr. Treasurer. In Jawhar these discussions are often conducted…differently. Zahir will stand by his words, though, despite the coarseness of them.”

  The treasurer nodded solemnly. He didn’t look happy, but he waved his hand, indicating they could move on. That left only Nevena and Waltham.

  Paulo braced himself.

  Nevena stood up again to get their attention. “I’m impressed by your Jawhari colleague, Paulo. What was his name again?”

  “Zahir.”

  “His full name.”

  Paulo knew where this was going. There was nothing he could do to stop it. “Zahir Farreya.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought. Zahir Farreya, otherwise known as the Jailor of Kalianca. You seemed to have tamed him somehow. I say this because he hasn’t killed any of us yet, nor has he put cinders under our fingernails.”

  She turned to the councilors and gestured at Zahir in a sweeping motion. “Some of you have heard the stories about the Jailor, I’m sure. This is he. This is Paulo’s main contact in Jawhar and his vouchsafe for the character of the princess of Pomeria; a homicidal maniac who tortured countless men and women. It’s in the Trader’s Guide for all to see.

  “And what about the princess, who is another one of your confidants. Isn’t she Marked by the Belidorans? She tried to kill the Great Herald and was even cast out by her own mother and father, the king and queen of Pomeria. I dare say, she doesn’t sound exactly…stable.

  “And then there is this Belidoran man you keep referring to. The one who told you about his experience with the gargoyle, and who told you about the strategic importance of the Old Keep for the Cenarans. He seems to be a foundation of so many of your arguments. Now, let’s be perfectly clear. This Belidoran man is also Marked and known as the Truthseeker, a notorious madman and liar. But I’m sure he was perfectly honest with you, Paulo. I’m sure his madness temporarily cured itself when he told you what he supposedly knew.”

  Paulo was about to interject, but she spoke over him. “Oh, and there is more,” she said. “It seems all of these people, including Paulo, escaped from the Belidoran army with the help of the half-wit infidel Darian Bronté, also known more commonly as the Imbecile. This is the man who slayed the Belidoran general Vanaden Granth in cold blood. I’m sure he is one of the Thelonian Brothers referred to in your report, but I’m surprised he wasn’t featured more prominently given his apparent penchant for madness.”

  Then she spoke even louder, drilling in her conclusion. “The fact is, all of your so-called sources for these fantastical notions are liars, madmen, outcasts, or criminals. Even the woman who isn’t Marked, the one named Nala that was indentured to you, is being held by General Timothur Granth, surely for some criminal act. I wonder if there’s anyone credible at all that you have used to create this tapestry of lies.”

  Paulo’s rage had been escalating. Finally he couldn’t help but blurt out, “Enough of this, Nevena. You’re out of line. You know the reason these people are cast as criminals is because of the Cenaran conspiracy. You know—”

  She yelled over him, cutting him off, “No, Paulo, it’s you who are out of line. You’ve done more here than propose an attempt to bury our doctrine under this avalanche of lies. You’ve brought great danger upon us, and because of this I’ve been forced to communicate things to the council off protocol, for our own safety. I’ve had to tell them how you provided this Truthseeker with our most ancient and secret artifacts, like the heated tunic and the fat-burning torch, before sending him into Cenaran territory. What do you have to say about that?”

  Nevena must have found out from the armorer after Paulo left. Paulo’s speech faltered. “He…he was going on a quest that I thought was interesting, to climb the Snail Mountains and recover the oldest Book of Canons. There could be clues to understanding the Forefathers. I wanted to give him some chance of survival…”

  “It sounds like you were exploring another ridiculous theory at our expense, with a liar and madman as your agent. And my armorer in Thelos overheard you speaking with him. You even gave him the directions to Spoons, didn’t you? You gave a known criminal the location of our secret fortress—a man who will surely be apprehended by the Belidorans or Cenarans.”

  “No, that’s not the way it went. He doesn’t know it’s a fortress. I only wanted to know what he learned if he survived, so I needed a place to meet him should he succeed.”

  “And then what about bringing the Jailor here, when he could be a traitor or a spy? What if he tells the Jawhari or Cenarans of our fortifications?”

  “But that’s…by the time he returned, the war would be upon us, and you know—”

  “No, I don’t know, Paulo. None of us know. That’s the point. You claim this war will start on the first day of the Internecion according to all these infidels and madmen. I cannot claim to know, but the real question is, how can you possibly claim you really know?”

  “I…I trust these people. I have spent time with them. I believe them, and I have seen things that support their claims.”

  Waltham was cringing beside Nevena but had been letting the debate go on. He finally stepped in. “Okay, Nevena. That’s enough. I think we’d best end this. Paulo, please come walk with me.”

  “But what about the decision?” Paulo objected, not letting Waltham lead him away. “Aren’t we going to vote? This is of critical importance.”

  Waltham looked pained. “Listen, Paulo, I’m sorry, but we’ve already decided. We had a special meeting last night, and Nevena presented her evidence about your sources and theories already. Today was just to hear you speak, out of respect for all that you’ve done for the Fringe. But I’m sure you see the folly in what you’re saying.”

  Paulo felt a rush of anger. How dare they have a secret meeting without him! “No, I don’t! This is unheard of! You made the decision without hearing my arguments? Without even reading the report?”

  “Yes, and I’m glad we did, because Nevena is right. We can’t trust your sources, and I hate to say it, but your judgment is in question for repeatedly trying to peddle this…madness.”

  Paulo was shocked into silence.

  “And there’s another thing,” Waltham said, looking morose.

  “What is it?” Paulo asked.

  “I wanted to tell you this in private, away from the council, but if you prefer I will say it here, in front of everyone.”

  Paulo nodded.

  Waltham sighed and locked onto Paulo’s eyes, then continued, “We are divorcing you from the council. I think you should take time here in Spoons to reflect on what you have accomplished. Perhaps aid in the rest of the construction if that suits you. You need time away from the pressure of these difficult decisions.”

  Paulo searched the faces of the council members. Some looked down, some looked sad. Not really sad, though, more like they had lost a pet and not a visionary and intellectual leader. No one looked ashamed. They should have looked ashamed.

  The decision was made. Trying to reserve what he could of his dignity, he gritted his teeth and walked toward the exit without saying another word. He heard Zahir trailing behind him.

  He knew Zahir would deliver the sinister look that the council deserved.

  For no reason in particular, Paulo decided to walk up to the incomplete ramparts above the arcade on the top of the Child. He was well-winded by the time he’d finished escalating the hundreds of steps, and
needed time to sit and recover before he could take in the view. Zahir followed closely behind, making an unusually positive quip about how it was good exercise along the way, even though it must have been painful with his healing leg.

  In spite of the beauty of the countryside that unfolded below him, the view sickened him. He knew that his creation would be in vain. Its goal—to save the Fringe—wouldn’t be met unless they allied with other nations against the Cenarans.

  “You should’ve asked me to help,” Zahir said.

  Paulo was confused. “I did, and you did. Thank you, Zahir. Your tone could have been less harsh, but it wouldn’t have mattered. They had already made up their minds.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant killing the woman.”

  Paulo looked at Zahir and saw that he was serious. He couldn’t help it, but he allowed himself to laugh. “Yes, I suppose so Zahir.”

  “You don’t know politics, do you, Purveyor?”

  Paulo realized he was right. He had underestimated Nevena and had naively assumed that the Fringe were immune to the corruptions of power. Waltham was under her thumb, and she must be jockeying to be next in line for trade chief. She might have even believed Paulo, but it didn’t matter. Her ambition was front and center, as always, and she couldn’t look around it to see what was coming.

  “No, I suppose I don’t,” Paulo conceded.

  “So what now?” Zahir asked.

  “The council wants me to help survey the remainder of the construction.”

  “I heard. What will you really do?”

  Paulo managed a grin and looked at Zahir. How was it that this man who had committed so many atrocities understood him so well? It made him realize how wrong the council was to have such a one-dimensional view of Zahir and the infidels. Most of the tales that circulated about the lands spoke rightly regarding the actions of these people, but were so false on intent and context. It reminded him of something his first Fringe mentor had told him. She’d said, “Prejudice is bred from a simplistic view of the world.”