A Tale of Infidels

by Erik A Otto

  She made a mental note of his comment about the Jawhari being better customers of silverstone. It could be nothing, but it could also mean the Jawhari were preparing for something that required a lot of silverstone, like war.

  “Now, if you’ll answer one of my questions, Princess. I hope you’ll answer truthfully, as you said you would.” He offered a sly smile that was once again betrayed by his motley teeth.

  She suspected he would ask trade-related questions, perhaps about weapons stores in Pomeria, or perhaps their amenability to buying more eclectic Fringe wares like silverstone mirrors or eyeglass. For those questions she needed to be careful, especially with the captain standing over them. For the first time in her life she felt lucky her parents had imparted little to her.

  But he didn’t ask about trade. After another whiff from his great pipe, Krish asked, “What do the Pomerians think about the Internecion, or what we Fringe refer to as the Cleansing?”

  The Internecion was one of the many prophecies in the Book of Canons that she had a hard time believing in. It foretold a period of several years fraught with conflict. In that time, nonbelievers would be weeded out, and only the truly pious would remain. It was one of the arbitrary prophecies often used by the Sandaliers to scare people into subservience, so she’d never given it much credence. And it was especially difficult to fathom given that the timing of this Internecion was supposed to be after the Day of Ascendancy; a prophecy that was even more difficult to believe. If the world actually turned upside down on the Day of Ascendancy, maybe then she would give the Internecion her attention.

  But that was her opinion, and while most Pomerians shared it, it wasn’t an opinion expressed openly. The Pomerian alliance with Belidor was founded in large part on swallowing all their religious dogma and adhering to it with strict discipline. So these prophecies must be heeded, however ridiculous.

  She chose her words carefully. “I’m sure you know of the high priests in Belidor, whom we call the Sandaliers. Well, I’m not one of them, nor have I even been apprenticed to one, so I can’t speak in an informed manner about the Internecion. I can tell you we are likely to support our allies—the Belidorans—in whatever may be ordained.”

  He strained his eyes at her, as if she had spoken a riddle. “Yes, yes, but do you or the Belidorans have anything planned?”

  Planned? Of course not, it was many months away, but would that reveal a lack of piety?

  After some consideration, she decided it wouldn’t. “No, sir. As far as I know, we don’t, but we will be prepared when the time comes. I can assure you that even now we prepare for the Day of Ascendancy. Surveyors, carpenters, and guild masters are already at work all over Pomeria to ensure we properly moor estates, teach our people about the risks of being out in the open on the Day, and to heed the other warnings. As you know, it comes before the Internecion.”

  It was all true, but she was almost ashamed of it. Such a huge amount of time and money was being spent on building ugly scaffolds and mooring lines connecting buildings to hearthstones. All so they could spend more time and money removing them when the world failed to turn upside down. She would love to know how the guild members had colluded with the Sandaliers to promote such a windfall.

  “Hmmm. I understand,” Krish said, but his brow was still furrowed. He took a sip of his tea for the first time.

  A mild flash of guilt came over her. Krish wasn’t getting a fair deal here. He couldn’t know how little she knew. It could be that her parents had dozens of plans and contingencies for the Internecion that they reviewed with their advisers daily. Hella would be the last to know.

  “If I may, Krish, can I ask why this is an important question for you?”

  Krish raised his eyebrow and nodded slowly. “I suppose I could put it in the words of our Purveyor in Niknak. Him and I, we don’t see eye to eye on much, but he has a kind of…wit. He points out that because we don’t control the dialogue, because we don’t have any say in who is labeled what, when there is a time of duress, we Fringe get the short end of the stick. On the canvas of history, we’re painted with the last color on the pallet, the one that is crusty and spoiled, because you already had your pick of the fresh blue and gold and maroon colors. It also means we’re the most likely to be wiped off the canvas altogether when it’s time to clean things up. Or if I could put it another way, if you and the Jawhari and Belidorans start another one of your games of comparing who has the best prayer book, I have a feeling we’re the ones who will be written off the page first.”

  It made some sense, for if the great nations all took the Internecion seriously, at best there could be further isolation of the Fringe. At worst it could mean their extermination. According to the Book of Canons, there was some heavy oppression of the Fringe around the first Internecion a few hundred years ago, so he had good reason to be concerned, if you could believe the Book.

  There was silence for a time. They both sipped their teas carefully.

  “What can you tell me of the Herald’s advisers?” she asked.

  Krish looked cautiously up at the captain again, then he took in a great breath, the inhalation making a hissing sound between his clenched teeth. He held tightly onto his knotted beard as he responded. “Forgive me, Princess, for I don’t know the advisers personally, but I do hear much about them in my dealings with the people of Jawhar. My knowledge is all second hand, so please treat it as such. If the stories I hear are true, however, I will say this about the advisers: they are all to be feared, and I worry about the stability of government with the Herald at such an infirm age.”

  That seemed to touch a hot button with the captain. He stepped in with his hand on his sword. “Be careful what you say, heathen. You know penalty for speaking ill of Herald.”

  Krish abruptly fell to the ground and scrambled over to the captain on his knees, fawning pathetically at his feet. “Apologies, Captain, apologies. The Herald will outlive us all as he has proven so many times.” The captain stepped back and nodded, then Krish sat back in his seat again as if nothing had happened.

  It was an odd exchange, as if Krish begging to the captain was as commonplace as sneezing.

  “So where were we?” Krish continued carefully, keeping an eye on the captain. “Oh yes, the advisers. There’s an upstart group of highly devoted followers of the Usaim Doctrine that are having regular meetings with the Herald, more so than other advisers. Are you familiar with the Usaim Doctrine?”

  Hella nodded. Paykal had taught her that it was mostly a rehashed version of the Book of Canons. She knew enough of the main differences with the Belidoran faith so she could get by as long as she wasn’t asked too many specific questions.

  “Well, the chief adviser of this contingent is a cleric named Mahmood. He has personal prayer time with the Herald. He will be a difficult one.”

  Hella nodded, welcoming the information. This Mahmood must be the one Veckio had warned her about.

  Krish batted a careful eye at the captain, then continued, “Wahab the Weak is another. He used to be the Herald’s main adviser for many years but has fallen out of favor.”

  “Why do they call him Wahab the Weak?”

  “I don’t think it’s because he’s a weak ruler. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been in power for so long. No, I hear it’s because his right arm is wasted away from a disease.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “Basim Taymullah is another one. He has accomplished little but has a sense of humor that keeps him in the Herald’s good graces. Then there’s Sal Habib. He controls a lot of industry, including the petrified-wood mines in the west, so he’s given a long leash.”

  The captain stepped in and abruptly smacked Krish in the face with the back of his hand. “Likeness of council to dogs will not be tolerated by blasphemous pigs. Princess, we leave.” He grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her out of the yurt.

  Apparently she’d found her limit with the captain.

  Once outside, her personal guard stepped
in with hands on the pommels of their swords. “Stand down,” she said as the captain dropped her on the dirt next to her horse. “The captain is only doing his job.”

  Two of the Jawhari militia had also taken Krish out of his tent. They were slapping him and punching him in the stomach. The thought that she’d put this man in harm’s way made her feel profoundly ill at ease. She certainly didn’t want any bloodshed on account of her pushing the boundaries.

  Strangely enough, Krish had a grin on his face, and the more she watched, it seemed like the militia weren’t really hurting him, just making a scene.

  The captain said, “we leave,” again and he waved toward the exit.

  Krish was panting and cringing at the superficial blows. He seemed to read her mind and offered her further assurance. “Don’t worry, Princess. If I’m harmed, my people will simply stop serving the Jawhari. Trade is our only leverage, but a powerful one when you consider the Jawhari hunger for our goods.”

  “Enough!” the captain said, some spittle escaping his lips. “We leave now!”

  Hella did as she was told, mounting her horse and making her way toward the exit of the enclosure. Krish made one last call out to her. “I hope we will have a chance to finish our conversation!” He managed a smile. Some drool was coming out of his mouth, a repercussion of a recent backhand to his face. “And please remember my good turn should Pomeria need Fringe goods.”

  A Jawhari soldier slapped him again.

  She nodded back to Krish and kept on, the rest of the retinue following, their horses prodded on by frustrated Jawhari militia.

  As she made her way through the exit, she thought it might be a good time to head back to her tower. She wanted time to reflect on the conversation.

  But her foray didn’t end there, unfortunately.

  A rabble had grown outside the Fringe camp, casting hate-filled glances at her and her retinue. Perhaps she’d spent too long in one place. It was something the colonel had advised against.

  The captain’s countenance changed. He looked at her with urgency rather than anger. “They have followed us. We go quickly.”

  Indeed, they tried to, but as soon as they started to gallop away, the mob began throwing blocks of rotting wood and mounds of dirt. Some of these were serious melon-size projectiles, and one knocked a guard off his horse. The crowd swarmed in and began kicking at him, and the Jawhari militia broke it up. They hoisted the downed man back on one of their saddles and left his stranded horse to the crowd. When Hella had paused to watch, a small projectile smacked her right cheek. It was a superficial blow, but it still smarted painfully.

  Without further delay, they broke free of the mob and made their way back to the other side of the city.

  She spent much time that night pondering the discussion with Krish. The content had not piqued her curiosity as much as the man himself. This simple trader seemed to be able to effect a passive resistance, to exert some power over the Jawhari, and not just superficially. He knew how to wield that power, despite the appearance of subservience. It inspired her to think of ways to do the same.

  But she had no goods to trade with the Jawhari. What leverage did she have?

  Sleep didn’t come for a long time, such was her restless mind, but come morning, she was ready to approach the colonel.

  She tiptoed down the loud petrified-wood stairs to the main foyer of the tower. It would be her best chance to catch him. He was usually in the foyer in the mornings, reading Jawhari bulletins, and sometimes picking up his mail. Indeed, he was there again, drinking a cup of burse; a malty okra-based drink that she couldn’t stomach. He looked annoyed by her presence but didn’t ask her to leave.

  “What is it, Envoy?” he asked. “If you’ve come to ask for more freedom to roam around town, you can forget it. The scar on your cheek is all the reason you need.”

  The scar and bruise were still healing. Makeup could hide the discoloration but not the scab.

  “Is there any news from the capital?” she asked.

  “There is no news. You can go back to your chamber.” He turned away from her and back to his bulletins.

  “I wanted to know if I should pack.” She said.

  He looked at her with a weak smirk, sensing something was up.

  “I congratulate you Colonel,” she said. “You’ve managed to hold me here longer than I hoped, I grant you that. But we both knew it would be for a limited time. Unless, of course, you plan to transform this minor transgression into a flagrant violation of our agreement with Jawhar.”

  He rolled his eyes. “What is this nonsense? It’s early, and I haven’t drunken my burse, so please speak plainly.”

  She furrowed her brow to feign surprise, and he might have believed it. “Well, Colonel, you can imagine the aftermath when I send my two men back to Pomeria from Managash.”

  He looked mildly confused. “Don’t play your Belidoran games with me. Everyone will be staying here in Managash.”

  She spoke slowly, adding a hint of concern to her words. “I’m from Pomeria, not Belidor, and we have our own games, I admit, but I assure you this isn’t one of them.”

  She waited, but he was unresponsive. Then she said, “The agreement we have with Jawhar, Colonel. Do you really not know?”

  He only frowned.

  “I thought you would surely be informed, because the Herald was certainly informed. Every month I’m to send two of my men to report on my progress as Envoy, as well as the health and safety of my retinue. If these two men do not arrive in Pomeria to update on my progress by the predetermined time, the default assumption will be that I’ve been killed by Jawhari savages.”

  He at least seemed to be listening.

  “Think of the implications of this, Colonel. If you don’t let me send my two messengers, it could start a war. Do you want to have that on your conscience, sir?”

  Hayzan thought for a minute, and then glanced into her eyes. She stared back unflinching. Thankfully this kind of posturing had been thoroughly taught in her upbringing. She could only hope it was convincing now that she was actually putting it into practice.

  “Fine. You can send your two messengers,” Hayzan said. “What do I care? But you cannot leave Managash for Judud Jawhar. Are we done?” His tone made it seem like the decision meant nothing to him, but there was a menacing look in his eyes.

  “I don’t think so, Colonel.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You should think this through. The way I see it, if I don’t reach Judud Jawhar by the time my two messengers have to leave, they will only be able to tell the truth about the situation, and what do you think the situation might suggest to Pomeria, and Belidor as well?”

  He sat there quietly, his jaw clenching.

  “Since you refuse to answer, I can only assume you don’t understand.” Hella said. “Well, it may well be that we are only temporarily waylaid, as you say, and that we will arrive at Judud Jawhar in good time, but to Pomerian officials, our situation might sound more like the Jawhari have in fact not welcomed a Pomerian Envoy but rather taken a hostage in a distant quadrant of Jawhar. There’s really not much difference between that and murder to us Pomerians. In fact, if the people knew a Pomerian princess was held hostage, the discontent would spread and grow through Pomeria, and also Belidor and even Thelonia.”

  She paused just enough for him to imagine the repercussions, and then said, “On the other hand, if I’m in Judud Jawhar, as we all agreed, there will be no cause for alarm.”

  His eyes remained fixed on hers, searching for weakness.

  “So I can assure you,” she continued, “if we all don’t leave for Judud Jawhar soon, and then send my two men back when I arrive, it could start a rather unfortunate war. Maybe not right away, but soon enough. Maybe that’s what you want, but since you haven’t killed me yet, thank you very much…” She gave a small bow. “My guess is that isn’t your objective.”

  He was silent, still brooding.

  “It’s yo
ur choice, Colonel,” she finished.

  He smiled knowingly. “I don’t believe you, Princess. This is all a lie. There is no requirement to send back your men.”

  Then she did something that surprised even herself. She laughed at Colonel Hayzen. It was a subtle, mocking laugh, one designed to show how pathetic and diminuitive his contention was. Then she said, “You can ask the Herald yourself. Don’t you think we would have a system in place to ensure my safety? You’ll be blamed for this, I don’t doubt. I actually relish that one outcome, that the entire nation of Jawhar will blame you for the deaths of so many of their loved ones.”

  He stared at her for some time, with his eyes still shifting. He was unwilling to respond.

  It would all come down to a risk equation for Hayzan. She judged him to be a man of questionable ethics, but he was also politically savvy, or he wouldn’t be in this position. He wouldn’t want to risk becoming a pariah—one that caused countless deaths on a hunch that she wasn’t telling the truth. Rather, he could make up some excuse for them to go to Judud Jawhar, if not the one Hella had provided, and suffer the lesser consequence if Hella was lying.

  “I will take my leave, Colonel. Should we decide to leave for Judud Jawhar, I suggest we do it soon. I know it could take up to ten days of travel. I will tell my retinue to pack in the hopes that you see the good sense of it.”

  The anger was gone in Hayzan’s eyes. All that was left was disgust and hatred. With her manipulation, she had unearthed some deep-seated loathing, some form of Pomerian scorn born of the traumatic history between their two nations.

  “Good day, Colonel,” she said.

  As she twirled away and headed back up the stairs, she felt a rise of exhilaration, knowing she just might pull it off. In hindsight, her mother and father should have organized a system like the one she’d contrived, but they had little practice at sending Envoys into the lands of their historical enemies.

  Throughout the rest of the day and into the night, she met with her retinue individually and told them to pack their things. They expressed surprise but went to work dutifully. When she was done arranging her own affairs, she stared out the lonely window in her chamber to watch over the districts of Managash, hopefully for the last time.