by David Dickie
With that, they travelled down the road and through the south gate to the enclave, where Roel pointed out a grandiose polished black marble cathedral with square buttresses and interlocking domes forming the center. “That is the temple, also non-denominational. Master Brandin gives his sermons there.”
“Unusual architecture for Pranan,” said Alan, looking interested.
“The temple is more than four hundred years old.”
Alan looked even more interested. “Fascinating. So it survived the second ohulhug war, when these lands were held by the ohulhug? I thought their natural abhorrence for religion would have driven them to raze the place.”
“Even back then, the enclave was blessed with charismatic leaders who could convince even ohulhug there was a better way.”
“Better way?” repeated Alan.
“Wait for the sermon,” said Roel, a trifle smugly.
Grim was looking at the temple. Four doors faced cardinal compass points. Grim frowned. “Is this a Storm Bull temple? Where’s the bull symbol?” Every Storm Bull temple he’d ever seen had an enormous glyph over each door that was a stylized version of a bull’s head and horns.
“It was,” said Roel. “A long time ago, when the ohulhug overran these lands. As part of the agreement with the ohulhug, the bull symbols were removed. You can see the depression over each door where they were chiseled out. Today, it helps remind everyone that the enclave will accept the clergy of any god.” Roel looked over the group. “Is everyone interested in attending the sermon?” There were nods here and there, and Grim had to admit he was curious. “Then follow me into the temple.”
The dark marble of the temple must have been added in sections, but they were seamless and polished until they gleamed in the afternoon sun. Broad, shallow steps lead to a set of eight columns supporting an overhanging roof. Four sets of double oak doors, banded with a metal that gave off a silver glint, lead to the interior.
Roel led the way up the stairs and through the door while everyone followed behind. The transition into the building was sudden, and their eyes took a few minutes to adjust. It was a large, circular room, domed overhead, light coming from slots where the dome melted into the walls without any apparent seam. The floor was made of inlaid marble tiles, a random pattern of green and black and rose. Doors stood in the shadows of large columns that supported the dome to the left and right. In the center stood a low platform. As they approached, Grim saw it was not a platform, but a small pool of water.
Roel stood in front of it. "Try to be as still as the water," he said, then turned to the pool. Grim and some of the others, looking slightly confused, did the same. It appeared that the water did not end at floor level, but continued down for some distance. The pool was crystal clear and absolutely still. Grim found his eyes following the pool of water down into the depths and tried to imagine that he was suspended in it, floating motionless and weightless. It seemed like a few seconds when Roel touched his shoulder, but when he looked up he was surprised to see others standing around them who hadn’t been there when they arrived.
"I didn't hear them come in," Grim said in surprise.
"You were a little absorbed," Roel said with a smile. "How do you feel?"
Grim thought about that for a few moments. "At peace," he said finally, realizing that it was true. Somewhere inside himself, he was still floating motionless in water.
"Good. The pool helps you to focus. You can use it at times other than the general service, by the way. If something is troubling you, it can help to remove that anxiety while you consider courses of action."
Roel pointed to the north. "This way." He led the group through a bleached wooden door with a white marble arch. The wood of the door felt warm and live to Grim’s touch, as if it were still a living tree. Inside, rows of seats sank slowly toward a stage at the bottom of a slight incline. Many of the seats were already taken. They found seats together near the stage.
A door that had not been visible before opened in the back of the room, and a man entered. He was massive, well over six feet tall, barrel chested. He sported jet-black hair with streaks of silver at the base and a deep, rich, purple robe, trimmed in the powder-blue worn by the acolytes. His eyes cut through the room like scythes. He moved to the center of the stage. Despite his mass, he moved like a bird, light on his feet, with quick, sharp motions.
He stopped, and a light suddenly hit him, dimming everything else in the room. He looked over the audience. Took their measure. He had a strong face, fully human, with a jutting jaw line and high cheeks. His eyes were dark, almost black, and over them were thick black eyebrows a little out of place with the silvering hair. The strength of his character was almost palpable, and everyone could suddenly understand how such a place could have existed for so long, if men like these had been in charge.
Then a smile came to the man’s lips, and it was like a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds. “Welcome," he said in a deep, resonant voice. "Today, I wanted to share with you a thought I had recently. You have all heard by now about Eleyford, threatened by a mysterious ship, and the role the Kethem Navy is playing, a role that traditionally has always fallen to Cherifyr's fleet. We have much to thank Kethem for, both the military and other travelers from that nation," and he nodded toward where Grim and the rest of the group were sitting with a small grin. Grim would have jumped if he wasn't still wrapped by the strange calm from the temple's pool. Either Brandin had an organization that was remarkably effective at getting information sent to the top of the hierarchy, or he could tell just by a glance where a traveler came from. Neither of these were particularly settling thoughts.
"Actually," continued Brandin, "The Kethem warships are more than a help. They more than likely are the key in keeping the enemy ship at bay. Why?"
Grim felt an impulse to answer the question, as best he could, but he restrained himself. The answer was obvious. Kethem military vessels were much better then their Pranan counterparts. Grim felt sure Brandin was leading up to something more subtle.
Someone else in the audience volunteered an answer. "Currying favor with Eleyford lords?"
Brandin actually chuckled. "Vlas, Vlas, I didn't mean why did they do it... although that is a good guess. I meant, why were they the key?"
Another spoke up. "Kethem has the best warships afloat. Even a Kethem Light Frigate is more than a match for the warships of any City-State in Pranan."
Brandin nodded solemnly. "Yes, Merse. Precisely. A Kethem Heavy Warship is worth up to two or three of Cherifyr's best... and at least two of Oleg's. Instead of a half-dozen Cherifyr warships, with the Kethem Heavy and two Kethem frigates, Eleyford had double the force that the Cherifyr ships could bring to bear. In fact, you could make a case that in this particular situation, the Kethemer's ships are even more effective. Concentrated firepower is significant when you have a single target. But you answer only the obvious... what everyone knows. The more profound question is why Kethem has better warships. Anyone?"
Someone spoke up. "I have seen the dock facilities at Cherifyr and those at Hediro. Hediro's are larger, and more modern."
"Why?"
And finally Grim thought he saw were this was going. He raised his hand, and Brandin nodded to him with a smile. "Hediro spends more money on docking facilities, and the Kethem Navy on the ships themselves. Because the spending is centralized, a lot of duplication of effort is eliminated. It allows funding research and development, which in turn is shared with other shipyards in Kethem."
“Very good,” answered Brandin. "A pack of wolves work together to bring down their prey, benefiting the entire pack. A lone wolf, no matter how strong, cannot attack similar prey without serious risk of injury, and for a lone wolf, injury is death. They must live off smaller prey." Sunbeams again, as the flash of a wide smile played across Brandin's face. He turned to the crowd. "And what is Pranan? Not a pack, just lone wolves, spending too much time fighting each other over the carcasses of previous kills instead of w
orking together to bring down a new meal.”
Brandin continued down the path of the wolf analogy for a while. Grim wondered if it was resonating with Aurora and Tyrgo. Then Brandin shifted to more concrete examples of average incomes per hectare in Kethem compared to Pranan, average incomes of different age groups, median life spans, and the like. It painted a picture of Pranan as a backward, provincial, poor relative of Kethem, not due to any fault by the people of Pranan, but because they had not learned to cooperate with one another. And, as he brought forth example after example of where cooperative ventures between some of the City-States had been wildly successful, Grim saw heads in the audience nodding.
"At one time," finished Brandin, "Pranan was the seat of the Lanotalis Empire, while Kethem was a sparsely settled pioneering community. How far have we fallen? Very far, indeed. How far could we go if we could end the continuous squabbling between our City-States? How far could we go if Kethem and Pranan, as equals, joined forces? And what about our non-human brethren? We have much to learn from them, ohulhug, trolls, and elves. But people need to make a stand, to recognize that a pyramid requires a solid base, founded in trust, to be erected. The City-State lords have too much history between them to forge that bond. It must come from the religious community, from you, my friends."
Brandin made a slight bow, and to the applause of most the audience, regally strode out of the chamber. People began to disperse.
“So,” asked Roel, “what did you think?”
“I found it inspiring,” said Fayyaad.
Grim, startled, said, “Really?”
Fayyaad said “Did you see golden coins raining down from the ceiling?”
Grim shook his head no, a little confused.
“Then, no, not really, dumbass. Don’t they have sarcasm where you come from?”
Grim was going to reply in kind when he looked at Fayyaad and realized there was something more than Fayyaad’s snarky comments in play. Fayyaad looked tired, run down, and his color was off. Grim wondered if he was getting sick. He was going to ask how Fayyaad was feeling when a young woman in the blue robes of the enclave approached them, clasped her hands together and bowed to Rotan. “If it would please you, Master Brandin requests your presence in his study.”
Rotan nodded. “I would be happy to meet Master Brandin. That was an impressive speech, very impressive. I believe Master Brandin and I have a great deal in common.”
The woman looked uncertainly at the rest of them. “The Master was not clear about your manservants.” Aurora bristled a bit. “And handmaidens.” Aurora turned beet red. Tyrgo was trying not to laugh.
“Companions, my Lady. They are my companions,” said Rotan.
She frowned. “Are you not a Holder? That would be the same as nobility here in Pranan.”
Rotan paused. “There are differences. But that can wait for another time.” He turned to the group. “I don’t want a huge crowd. One or two. Fayyaad? Grim?”
Fayyaad grunted. “There’s free grub, or I can listen to some airbag drone on about world peace? Easy decision.”
Grim was curious. “I’ll go.”
Alan said, “I found his sermon profound and would appreciate the opportunity to explore master Brandin’s philosophical conundrums in more detail.”
Rotan hesitated. “Perhaps just two would be better to start. I’m sure there will be other opportunities.”
Alan frowned. Grim couldn’t tell if Alan understood he was being brushed off or not, but if he did, he took it well. “As you wish.”
The acolyte clasped her hands together again and said, “If you would follow me, the master is waiting.”
She led them out of the temple, down a short path, and into a two-story building. It was not large, but it was made of white marble with a veranda whose roof was held up by white, fluted columns. It contrasted dramatically with the dark temple, but they both gave the distinct impression of money. The acolyte walked them down a corridor, through a door, down a longer corridor lined with what looked to Grim’s moderately experienced eye to be expensive paintings, real ones, not mind prints generated with spells. At the end was a huge oak door. The acolyte bowed and gestured them through it.
Brandin was inside. The man was as charismatic in person as he'd been during the sermon. He’d been sitting in a richly tooled arm chair, reading a book, but as they entered, he stood, smiled and said, “I wanted to welcome you, Lord Holder. We do not see people from Kethem here that often, and rarely a noble.”
Rotan bowed. “It’s my pleasure. I’m impressed with both your enclave and your eloquent speech. Very moving, very informative. And I must say, I have never seen such a mix of religious denominations in once place before, even in Kethem. You obviously have a lot of sway with them, and as you so adroitly pointed out, they are the ones who are more tied to their god than whatever City-State they own allegiance too.”
Brandin looked pleased. “I am proud of what we’ve built here, and I feel like there is hope for Pranan to grow beyond its current dysfunctional state.”
Rotan grinned widely. “And Kethem would be delighted to have Pranan restored to…” and then he stopped, staring at the book in Brandin’s hand. “Is that what I think it is?”
Brandin glanced down, then looked up with a grin. “I suppose it depends on what you think it is.”
“Perpetual Warfare, in the original high olhulhug? One of the only ohulhug books ever translated into common?”
Brandin nodded. “One and the same.”
Rotan looked shocked. “That must be worth a fortune. Not to mention… are you actually reading it?”
Brandin laughed. “I have been known to include dramatic gestures from time to time, but I’ve never fallen low enough to pretend to read a book to impress someone.”
“There can’t be more than a half dozen people in all of Kethem that read high ohulhug.”
“As opposed to low ohulhug?” asked Grim, curious.
Rotan shook his head. “There is no low ohulhug. The low ohulhug have similar characteristics to the high ohulhug, but they are, for all practical purposes, a different species.”
“All practical purposes meaning?”
“They cannot interbreed.”
Grim blinked. “Interesting. But don’t’ they share the same culture?”
“Not really. And the only written language between the two is high ohulhug. Given the high ohulhug propensity for killing humans—at least, the ones who are not slaves—on sight, few humans have learned to read it. And a high ohulhug book… almost unheard of to have one in human hands.”
Brandin nodded, trying to look humble. “We take pride in our collection of books, be they tomes of the old empire or rarities from other species. It’s refreshing to meet someone cultured enough to know what this is.”
They bantered back and forth for a few sentences, each one more flowery that the last, before Brandin finally turned to Grim. “And let me extend a welcome to your manservant as well.”
Rotan winced. “Companion. Grim is a friend.”
Brandin looked surprised for a moment but recovered quickly. “My apologies. Grim, welcome to the enclave. If there’s anything you’re curious about, please don’t hesitate to ask.
Grim didn’t know why, but he did have a question. His mind had flashed back to his encounter with the mad priest in the ruined temple he and Ziwa had explored on the way to Eleyford. “I understand you have a variety of clerical orders that stay here and research history that goes back before the first ohulhug-human war. I'm a bit of a history buff myself, and I ran across something recently about Pellen Barso, a Storm Bull cleric who was big after the conflict started, just around the time of the second ohulhug-human war. Know anything about him?"
Brandin froze for a moment, and for the first time since Grim had met him, he seemed off balance. When Brandon spoke, he chose his words carefully. "I know Barso was one of the most influential Storm Bull clerics of the time. His temple was razed during the second war, when
the territory was captured by the ohulhug, and he was presumed killed. Why do you ask?"
Grim responded, "It was just kind of an odd story, a huge temple in the middle of nowhere. We passed the ruins not too long ago, and I heard some of the history."
Brandin seemed to relax a bit, but there was still an edge to his voice when he said, "Then I am afraid you know more than I do. Well, you must all excuse me, but enclave business never ends. Please enjoy the rest of your stay, and if you need assistance, any of the acolytes can help you."
Rotan took longer than needed to say goodbye, and then they were out the door and in front of Brandin’s dwelling. Grim wondered. It seemed like Brandin had ended the meeting rather abruptly. Not that Brandin had to have a specific objective in mind inviting Rotan to meet with him in the first place. Kethem Holders had to be rare visitors, and perhaps Brandin had just been curious.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Rotan, oblivious to Grim’s observations. “That man could be a huge asset to forwarding Kethem’s interests in the region. A fifth column inside the City-States, a powerful, well-organized one.”
